Drunk.

I’m talking properly bollocksed. The kind where everything’s either hilarious or tragic and there’s no in-between.

“Where is it?” I ask Podge for the fourth time, as if he’s some sort of human compass. He’s pointing off toward a tent that is definitely not the main stage and squinting like it’ll materialise a map out of thin air.

We are so lost. Beautifully, hopelessly lost.

And then I see her.

Well—not her, yet. I see the group first. Bit posh looking, the sort of crowd that probably eats hummus voluntarily. But she’s… different. Doesn’t match the rest of them. Something about her looks sharp. Like she wouldn’t take shit even if it came with a bow on it.

And I, in my infinite drunken wisdom, decide she’s The One Who Knows Directions.

“Oi!” I call out, dragging Podge with me. “Sorry—do ye know where the scene is?”

Her friends clock us—drunken lads in the wild—and vanish. Disgusted. One of them looks at me like I’ve asked her to donate a kidney. But the girl stays. The mean-looking one. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

Turns out she’s actually nice. Smart too. Explains everything clearly, even draws a shape in the air like she’s got a whiteboard.

I try to high five her. Big mistake.

My coordination? Gone. And instead of a palm slap, I end up smacking her in the face. Right on the cheekbone.

“OH JESUS—sorry, SORRY—that was supposed to be a high five! I’m a danger to society, I swear I didn’t mean—Podge, back me up here—”

She just laughs. Laughs.

Which, y’know, is mental. Because if a lad hit me in the face, I’d be on the floor crying and calling my mother.

We stumble off after that, still lost. Still idiots. Podge keeps stopping to look at food trucks that don’t exist.

And then—like some kind of angel in Docs—she shows up again. With one of her mates.

“You still lost?” she asks, eyebrows raised like she expected this outcome.

“We are. Entirely. Fully. Like… spiritually lost.”

She offers to walk us there. Hero.

So we go. And I’m stumbling a bit and she’s tugging at my hoodie sleeve now and then to stop me from walking into strangers. Which is kind of her. I’d probably be on the floor if she weren’t here.

I keep apologizing. “I really am sorry about the face thing. Like. That’s gonna haunt me.”

“You’ve mentioned it six times,” she says, flat.

“Seven,” I correct. “You’re keeping count. I respect that.”

She doesn’t roll her eyes, which feels like a win.

Eventually we reach the gates, the crowd pushing toward the security pat-downs. It’s loud. The kind of electric hum that only comes before your ears are ruined for a week.

I look at her.

Probably too long. But in my defense, the lights are doing weird things and she’s looking all soft around the edges, like a painting. And maybe it’s the drink, but my brain blurts it out before I can stop it.

“You’re like… really okay, y’know?” I say, completely serious. “You’re grand.”

And I mean it.

Even if she probably thinks I’m cracked.