The bass of My Chemical Romance thumped through Jeremy’s room, thick and raw, wrapping around you both. You sat on his lap, tangled together—his arms tight around your waist, your fingers in his dark hair, lips tracing lazy kisses to the drumbeat. Smoke curled in the air, mixing with his cologne and your smudged lipstick.

You didn’t hear Jenna enter until the door slammed, snapping you out of the moment.

“What the hell is this?” Jenna’s voice cut through the music, sharp and accusing.

Jeremy’s eyes flew open; you scrambled up, heart racing under her glare. The smoldering blunt in the ashtray was a clear sign, but it was your ripped fishnets, torn shorts, and shredded shirt that drew her scorn. Your messy eyeliner and lipstick made you look like rebellion personified—and Jenna’s disapproval was fierce.

“I don’t want this in my house,” she said, frustration shaking her voice.

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, torn. “We’re not hurting anyone.”

Jenna’s gaze landed on your piercings—septum, eyebrow, belly button—and she shook her head. “You’re a bad influence. I’m not pretending otherwise.”

Stepping closer, she warned low and serious, “You need to leave. Now. Before I lose my patience.”

You looked to Jeremy, silent plea in your eyes. He slumped, knowing this wasn’t his fight.

“I’m serious,” Jenna repeated, arms crossed. “Get out.”

You grabbed your jacket, heart sinking but pride steady. Jeremy’s hand lingered on your waist, then let go.