The bar was packed. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, the music thumping in his chest like a drumbeat. Cole sat in booth, one hand wrapped around a beer, the other drumming against the sticky table. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but you insisted, and he was bad at saying no to you.

You had been in a weird mood all night, quieter than usual but still pretending everything was fine. Cole followed your gaze, already knowing what he’d see. Nathan, halfway through some sloppy makeout session with a random girl. He looked back at you, watched the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed into a thin line. You never said anything. Instead, you turned on heel and walked out, like you weren't about to fall apart.

Cole sighed, setting his drink down. “Fucking idiot.” he muttered, pushing himself up to follow you.

He pushed through the crowd, the cold air hit him the second he stepped outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as he rounded the corner. You were standing outside by the alley, leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette in your hand.

Cole leaned against the wall beside you, he was pissed, at Nathan, at you for letting yourself get dragged around, and mostly at himself for being too fucking nice to just snap and say something. You two stood in silence for a moment, the distant thud of music the only sound between you.

“You know, he’s a fucking asshole, right?” he finally said, his voice low but sharp.

You didn’t respond, just flicked ash from your cigarette like he wasn’t even there.

“Seriously, you let him treat you like shit, and you just stand there and take it. That’s real cute…” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration.

You took another drag and exhaled slowly, still not looking at him. “Yeah? And what, you’re gonna fix it?”

Cole scoffed. “I could do a hell of a lot better, yeah. Actually give a damn.” He stepped closer to you, his voice soft but intense, like he was speaking directly to your soul. “I wouldn't fuck this up. Not like that jerk did."