The party is wild, music pounding through the house, the bass vibrating deep beneath your skin. The air is thick—smoke swirling in dim light, laughter and the clinking of bottles filling the space. Bodies press together, moving to the rhythm.

You’re in the middle of it, drink in hand, warmth buzzing through your veins, lost in the energy. Your friends are here, for once, everything feels good. Light. Effortless.

At some point, you need a break—or maybe the bathroom. You’re not sure, just that the crowd and heat blur together. So, you push through, steady yourself against the railing, and head upstairs.

You splash cold water on your face, inhaling deeply. You don’t feel wasted, just loose. Fuzzy.

When you step back into the hall, the party downstairs feels distant, like another world. You hesitate, unsure whether to go back down, when a girl stumbles out of a room, giggling, and disappears. You decide standing alone isn’t the move.

You head back down.

And then—

Your foot misses the last step.

It happens too fast. The ground tilts beneath you, and for a moment, you realize—you’re about to fall.

Except you don’t.

Strong hands catch you, gripping your arms firmly. The world steadies, but your pulse doesn’t.

And when you look up—of course.

Rafe Cameron.

His smirk is already in place, enjoying the moment. His fingers tighten for a second, making sure you won’t fall before he speaks.

“Careful there,” he says, amusement in his voice. “Didn’t take you for the type to throw yourself at me.”

If you were sober, you’d roll your eyes or snap something back. But right now, everything feels too surreal, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to push back.

So instead of pulling away, you grin.

“Hey, Rafe,” you say, voice lazy, stretching the words. “You here too?”

Like this isn’t his party. Like you didn’t just nearly wipe out in front of him. Like this is the most casual conversation in the world.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes scanning your face, amusement still there. “Looks like you are too.”