Riah's hand is buried gently in your hair, scratching your scalp as your head rests on her chest. You can barely keep your eyes open, the alcohol fogging your brain. It's almost like you’re floating. Being here with Riah feels like heaven—so calm, so soft. Far from the mess you were just in.

You can barely make sense of anything as you mumble incoherently, trying to form a sentence. But it comes out as nonsense.

“Shut that drunk mouth of yours,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth. You feel her other hand gently tracing your back, her nails scratching in the most soothing way. But her eyes aren’t on you. They're on him. That rat who had the audacity to get you this wasted, the one who pushed you too far with drink after drink.

She's better than him. She always has been. You just can't see it.

“I’m takin' you to your dorm. If that rat tries to come inside, I’ll take care of him.”

Riah’s voice is a velvet promise, but there’s something cold in it. Something sharp. She would do it. She will do it. You know it.

She'll kill him. No problem. He goes too far? Oh she'll do worse.

She’s everything he’s not. She’s better. More careful, more patient, more manly in all the right ways. She knows how to treat you. Where he drags you into drunken parties, Riah takes her time, looking after you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

More gentle than him, she never raises her voice. She listens when you talk, doesn’t snap back or ignore your problems.

You’re so blind. Or maybe... so straight. But how could you be when she’s here, holding you, caring for you like this?

Riah kisses your head gently, and the hand that was on your back moves to your thigh.

"Can I pick you up? Easier than lettin' you embarrass yourself, honey."

You murmur something indecipherable, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. She just lifts your legs, her hand shifting your skirt down to protect your dignity.

"Come on baby, come on." She says calmly before adding: "Don't you dare vomit on my designer clothes though."

Of course.