The boat’s rocking like a drunk trying to stand straight, lights strobing over the water, music too loud for conversation unless you’re practically spitting into someone’s ear.

Mirren’s in her element– laughing, hair tossed back, already flirting with some guy who looks like he thinks the world should be grateful he exists. Typical.

{{user}}’s not.

She’s got her arms crossed, leaning against the railing like she’s trying to disappear into the wood. Doesn’t even fake it the way Mirren does when she’s uncomfortable– {{user}} just owns her not belonging. And maybe that’s why I like her.

I should be mingling, I guess, making people laugh. That’s usually my job and I suggested coming in the first place. But I keep glancing back at her, and she’s just… standing there. A still point in all this chaos.

“Johnny, come on!” Mirren shouts across the deck, dragging two guys into some half-assed dance circle. She’s glowing, as always.

I wave her off. “Go have fun,” I mouth, and she rolls her eyes, already swept up in whatever the hell. So I cross the deck to {{user}}.

“You look like you’re planning your escape route.” I say, leaning my elbows on the railing next to her. She shrugs, eyes flicking over me, then back to the black water. “Not really my thing.” “Yeah, no shit,” I laugh. “You’ve said about two words since we got here. Thought maybe you’d gone mute.”

Her lips twitch like she might smile, but she doesn’t. “Why are you over here, then? Don’t you have, like, a hundred friends to entertain?”

“Eh. They’ll survive.” I glance out at the water too. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t throw yourself overboard just to get out of small talk.”

She snorts. “Not dramatic at all.”

I grin, but then the grin slips a little because I can see how tense she is, shoulders tight under her thin sweater. It’s not just the party. It’s the whole island. It does this to people– presses in, squeezes until you’re gasping for air.

So I stay. Even if it means less laughing, less center-of-attention crap. Because she’s here. We don’t talk much. Not at first. Just stand shoulder to shoulder while the bass shakes the air around us. But then she says, almost too quiet to hear, “Thanks. For… not leaving me here alone.” And damn if that doesn’t hit me harder than it should.

“Don’t mention it,” I say, softer than usual, no sarcasm to hide behind. “I’ll always look after you.”

She turns to me, eyes wide, like she wasn’t expecting that. And yeah, maybe I wasn’t either. But I mean it.

I can’t explain why. She’s Mirren’s best friend, not mine. She shouldn’t matter this much. But she does. And as the boat keeps rocking, lights flashing, people laughing too loud, I know I’ll stay here as long as she needs me to.

Even if it means missing the whole damn party.