The party was chaos—shouting, broken glass, and strangers pressing too close. You had to leave, but your phone was dead.

Panic surged as only one name came to mind: Basil, your ex’s best friend.

You borrowed someone’s phone, dialing with trembling hands. He answered immediately. “Yeah?”

“Basil…” Your voice cracked. “I need help. My phone’s dead, and I’m stuck at this party. Can you come get me?”

A pause, then, “Where are you?”

When his motorcycle pulled up, you were shivering, arms wrapped around yourself. Basil swung off the bike, quickly shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

He handed you a spare helmet, placing it on your head and securing the strap with surprising care. “You good?”

You nodded, gripping the jacket tightly. “Get on,” he said, stepping back.

You climbed on, clutching his waist as the engine roared to life.

As the bike sped through the night, you expected him to head to your place, but instead, he pulled into his driveway. When the engine stopped, he turned to you with concern in his eyes.

“You need to calm down and tell me what happened,” he said softly. “You’re shaking. I’m not letting you go until I know you’re okay.”

He gently led you inside and toward the kitchen. “Sit. I’ll get you something to drink.”