The party is loud, the bass thrumming under your feet, but all you can focus on is Van.

She’s across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, grinning at some girl who’s practically draped over her. You watch as Van laughs at something she says, easy and charming, her hand resting lazily on the counter beside her drink. It’s the same thing every party—different girl, same effortless pull.

You hate that you care.

Turning away, you grip your drink a little too tightly, trying to shake the feeling clawing up your chest. It’s not like Van owes you anything. But that doesn’t stop your stomach from twisting every time you see her with someone else.

“Thought you didn’t drink,” comes a familiar voice, cutting through the noise.

You glance over your shoulder. Van stands there, hands in her pockets, head tilted like she’s amused.

“I don’t,” you mutter, setting the cup down.

Van smirks. “Then what are you doing sulking in the corner?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She steps in closer, just enough that you can smell the familiar mix of her shampoo and cheap beer. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Go back to your fan club, Van.”

She lets out a short laugh, but there’s something else in her expression now, something less cocky. “Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your heart stumbles in your chest.

Van leans in just a little, voice lower now. “You jealous or something?”

You glare at her, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. “Screw you.”

Her grin widens, but there’s something softer in her eyes, something just for you. “Anytime, babe.”

And just like that, she’s gone, slipping back into the party like she hadn’t just left you standing there, pulse racing, stomach in knots, cursing her name.