Lottie is outside, the cool night air a relief from the thick, stifling heat inside the house. She had slipped out with Nat a while ago, the two of them leaning against the porch railing, passing a cigarette back and forth. Lottie takes a long, slow drag, watching the glow of the embers as they burn.

She’s mid-laugh at something Nat said when the front door swings open abruptly. Van steps out, her expression tight, breath slightly uneven like she ran to find them: “Lottie, you gotta come,” she says. “It’s {{user}}!”

The cigarette slips from Lottie’s fingers, landing with a faint hiss on the wood. “What?” she blurts out, already moving toward Van. “What happened?”

“She’s- she’s fighting some guy,” Van rushes, turning back toward the house. “It’s bad.”

Lottie doesn’t need to hear anything else: She shoves past the doorway, heart pounding, following Van as they weave through the crowd. The second she steps into the living room, her stomach drops: You’re a mess: blood smeared across your lip, a bruise already blooming along your cheekbone. Tai has a firm grip on your arm, holding you back as she yells at some guy to ‘Back the fuck off’.

“{{user}}!” Lottie’s voice rises above the noise as she rushes to your side. Her hands find your shoulders, steadying you as she looks you over. “Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?”

You mumble something, brushing it off, but Lottie isn’t having it: Her hand brushes against your cheek, thumb just barely grazing the edge of the bruise there. “You’re hurt,” she says softly. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

She doesn’t wait for you to argue, gently guiding you away from the crowd and into a quieter corner of the house where she cups your face, tilting your chin so she can get a better look at the cut on your lip. “You scared me,” Lottie whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of music from the other room. “What were you thinking?”