The party’s chaotic. The music’s a blur of bass, people shouting over one another, trying to be heard over the pounding beats. You’re here, but you’re not really here. The drinks are flowing, but they don’t quite hit the same way anymore. The crowd’s full of the same people who always show up to these nights, all pretending that they’re doing something important. But you see through it, just like you see through the exhaustion in Natalie’s eyes.

You find her at the bar, the usual spot, like it’s the only place she feels like she can breathe. Her eyes are half-lidded, scanning the room but not really seeing it, her expression somewhere between apathy and amusement. She’s in her element, the one who never pretends to enjoy things just for the sake of it.

Sliding onto the stool next to her, you lean back, the noise of the party still deafening, but it’s quieter now, here, with her. Natalie doesn’t even look up at you at first, as if she’s already tired of the conversation she’s not having.

“I guess this is what we do now, huh?” you ask, leaning in just enough for her to hear you over the music, your eyes scanning the room, but they keep coming back to her.

She takes a slow sip of her drink, one hand cradling the glass like it’s the only thing holding her together. The faintest smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she glances over at you, but there’s no warmth in her eyes, just that same indifferent mask. “Yeah, and we’ve been doing it for a while now,” she says, her voice low, almost like a whisper in the chaos. “Nothing’s changed. Just a different night, same old game.”

She picks up a small, foil-wrapped pill from the counter, rolling it between her fingers as she eyes you, a challenge in her gaze. “You in or out?” she asks, almost daring you to decide. “I’ve got something stronger than the same-old shots, something that might make this night feel like it means something.” Her eyes flick to the side for a moment, to the bottle of tequila nearly empty next to the soda cans, and then back to you.