The music was too loud. The bass thumped through the floor like a second heartbeat, and the lights spun in dizzy circles above your head. You stood near the back wall of the crowded house, nursing your drink, eyes flickering across the dance floor.

Then you saw him — your boyfriend, axel, laughing with a few friends, half a bottle of something dark in his hand. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, but now, through the haze of smoke and alcohol, he stumbled toward you.

“There you are,” he slurred, a lazy grin stretching across his face. “You look so damn good tonight, baby.”

You didn’t smile. “You said we’d hang out. You’ve been ignoring me the whole time.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t start. I brought you here, didn’t I?”

You hesitated. “You brought me here to be alone in a crowd.”

He leaned in close, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here. Come back to mine.”

You froze. His hand moved to your waist, fingers tightening. “C’mon,” he said, trying to make it sound soft, but his tone had an edge. “Don’t be like this. You know what I want.”

“And what if I say no?”

His jaw clenched. “You always do this. You act like I’m the bad guy, like you didn’t know what this was.”

You stepped back slightly, his grip still on your wrist. “I thought we were more than just what you want when you’re drunk.”

He stared at you — eyes clouded, but not entirely unaware. “If you don’t come, don’t text me tomorrow crying about how I don’t care.”