The bass from the speakers rattled the walls, the scent of cheap vodka and too-sweet perfume thick in the air. Kerr Bannerman stepped over a knocked-over beer can, the sticky floor tugging at his boots. The house was dim except for strings of fairy lights swaying in the draft, but he didn’t need much light to see trouble.

They’d called him in like it was a job. The homeowner — older, tight-lipped, clearly regretting letting his kid host a party — had only given him one name. {{user}}. Said it like a warning. Said it like he’d better handle it before things got worse.

Kerr found them in the living room, sprawled sideways in an armchair that looked ready to tip. Their head lolled to one side, hair sticking to damp skin, a half-empty red cup still balanced on their knee.

The noise around them was loud — bodies dancing, laughter bubbling like carbonation, the occasional shatter of a dropped glass — but all Kerr could focus on was the sway of {{user}}’s breathing, slow and uneven. The room reeked of spilled liquor, cigarette smoke, and that faint metallic edge of bad decisions brewing.

He moved closer, his boots heavy on the hardwood, scanning for anyone else watching. They weren’t — they never were.

Up close, he caught the details — the smudge of eyeliner beneath their eye, the way their fingers twitched faintly like they were still reaching for the cup even in this daze, the faint bruise blooming along their forearm like they’d bumped into something on the way here.

Something ugly sparked in him — not anger at them, but at the fact no one else had stepped in. That they’d been left alone long enough for the homeowner to start worrying.

The bass dropped in another room, the crowd screaming with it, but Kerr’s attention stayed locked. He could smell the mix of fruity alcohol on their breath, could see the faint tremor in their legs as they shifted like they might try to stand.

This was what they called him for. Not just because he knew how to clear a room if needed. Not just because he could carry someone without asking questions. But because Kerr Bannerman didn’t leave people to rot in a bad moment. Not if he could help it.

He crouched down, steadying the chair before it tipped.