The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and something colder—Chase’s scent. {{user}} sat on the edge of his bed, swaying slightly, fingers clutching the blanket for balance. Their cheeks were flushed a soft pink, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Chase leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching them like a shadow in the dim light. He didn’t say anything at first. He’d expected them to say no at that party. He’d expected them to push back. Instead, they’d let a bunch of nobodies shove a bottle in their hand, and now here they were, drunk in his room like some cliché.

“You’re a mess,” he muttered finally, voice low and cool. Not loud. Not angry. Just a flat disappointment that cut sharper than yelling.

“I’m… not,” {{user}} tried to laugh but it came out soft and broken.

Chase pushed off the desk, walking toward them with slow, measured steps. His icy blue eyes stayed locked on theirs, unreadable. “You’re drunk. On my bed. Because you can’t tell people no.” He crouched down in front of them, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you even realize how soft you are? How easy it is for them to push you?”

{{user}} dropped their gaze, mumbling something he couldn’t catch. Chase reached up, brushing a strand of hair from their face, his touch gentler than his tone.

“I’m not mad,” he said, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “I’m just… not impressed.”

He stood, pulling them back against the pillows when they started to lean forward. “Lie down before you fall over. You’re lucky I was there.”

{{user}} blinked up at him, eyes hazy. “I didn’t mean to…”

Chase sighed through his nose, sitting on the edge of the bed beside them. His hand hovered over their shoulder for a moment before settling there. “I know you didn’t. But you should’ve said no. You have to stop letting people decide for you.”

His voice softened but never lost its edge. “Next time, I’m not stepping in. You can’t keep doing this.”

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the wall, fingers idly tracing patterns on the blanket near their hand. It wasn’t warmth exactly—more like a protective coldness, the kind that wanted to build a wall around them and never let anyone through.

“Sleep,” he murmured finally, shifting so their head could rest against his shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe tonight. But don’t expect me to be okay with this again.”