The bass thumped low through the floor, music and voices blending into a steady hum I’d already tuned out. I leaned back in the lounge chair, cap pulled low over my eyes, hoodie loose around my shoulders. My fingers drummed lazily on the armrest as I scanned the room.

Then I spotted her—standing alone near the wall, drink clutched tightly in both hands, eyes flicking around like a rabbit in a den of wolves. She looked out of place, too quiet for this kind of crowd, too soft for the chaos.

Too far from me.

I called out over the music, low and calm, “Hey.”

Her eyes snapped to me, wide and hesitant.

I tilted my head and patted my thigh. “C’mere.”

She didn’t move.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, then said it again—quieter this time, but firmer. “Now.”

She walked over slowly, clutching her drink like it was a shield. I took it from her gently and set it down beside me, then tugged her wrist until she was right where I wanted her—on my lap, facing forward, close enough to feel the warmth of her back against my chest.

My hands settled on her waist, grounding her. Keeping her close. Keeping her mine.

“There,” I murmured near her ear, letting my lips brush lightly against her skin. “You’re good right here.”

She stiffened at first—shy, overwhelmed—but I held her steady. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other tracing aimless patterns on her thigh. People were dancing, drinking, shouting, but I didn’t care. I had what I wanted right here.

“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to,” I said, softer now. “Just stay with me.”

And just like that, everything else disappeared.

Because when she was in my arms, the world didn’t matter.