The party is chaos—music pounding, bodies pressed together, air thick with alcohol. Cassie had begged you to come, saying she needed a fun night. Now, she’s stumbling through the crowd, way too drunk.

She nearly trips before grabbing onto your arm, nails digging in as she leans in too close, breath warm with tequila.

“There you are,” she slurs, smiling lazily. “I was looking for you.”

Her mascara is smudged, her hair a mess—not the perfect Cassie everyone knows.

“How much did you drink?” You ask, steadying her.

She giggles. “Enough.” Then, suddenly, her smile fades.

“You’re the only one who actually cares about me, right?”

You hesitate. “Cassie—”

“No, I mean it.” Her grip tightens. Her voice is desperate. “People like looking at me, but they don’t care. Not like you.”

Her eyes are glassy, painfully raw. You sigh, wrapping an arm around her. “Let’s get you home.”

Cassie doesn’t argue, just leans into you completely. “You won’t leave me, right?” she mumbles.