The bass pounded so hard through the walls it made Marius’s teeth ache. Some distorted remix of a Top 40 song shook the frat house to its core, and every inch of the living room was filled with bodies grinding like they were competing for a public-indecency record. Sweat, beer, and cheap cologne hung thick in the air. He was over it—so over it.

This hadn’t even been his idea.

Of course, it had been {{user}}’s.

{{user}} had spent the week chattering about this “crazy Halloween party” all his other bimbo friends were going to. Marius had said no. Repeatedly. But {{user}} had that smile—that mix of charm and pleading that made it impossible to stay irritated. Then Carmen joined in, laughing loud enough to draw stares, calling Marius a “grumpy old man” and daring him to come have fun for once.

And now here he was—stuck in hell, surrounded by sweaty strangers in plastic costumes, sitting on a couch that had probably seen too many bad decisions.

The blunt Carmen had handed him still clouded his head, making everything feel slow and detached. The music thudded at the back of his skull. His eyelids drooped. He could almost fall asleep, let the night burn itself out without him. Until Carmen spoke.

“Wait… where’s {{user}}?”

Marius didn’t open his eyes. “With his friends,” he mumbled. “He’s fine.”

Carmen snorted. “His friends left an hour ago. Said bye and everything. Pretty sure he’s still here—probably drunk as hell by now.”

That cut through the haze like a knife.

Marius sat up too fast; the room tilted. “You’re kidding me.”

Carmen shrugged. “What? I didn’t know I was supposed to babysit him.”

“{{user}} drunk, surrounded by these idiots who can’t take no for an answer? Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Carmen held out the blunt with a smirk. “Relax. He’s fine.”

But Marius was already on his feet.

He shoved through the crowd, ignoring who he bumped. Someone spilled beer on his sleeve; another grabbed at him, laughing, but he shook them off. The reek of alcohol and fake fog made his stomach churn. “{{user}}!” he called over the pounding music, scanning every face, every costume.

Nothing.

He was two seconds from tearing the place apart when something caught his eye—soft bunny ears bobbing near the kitchen doorway.

“There you are,” he muttered, pushing toward them. Relief hit—then vanished.

Standing too close to {{user}}—way too close—was a guy in a cheap toga, muscles bulging under fake tan and smug confidence. One hand gripped {{user}}’s arm; the other guided him toward the stairs. {{user}}, glassy-eyed and wasted, stumbled after him, barely aware.

Marius froze. The bass faded beneath the rush of blood in his ears. Then he moved.

People complained as he shoved through them, but he didn’t stop. Someone giggled and tried to dance into his path—he shoved her aside with a growl. By the time he reached the stairs, the frat boy already had one foot on the step.

“Get the fuck off my boyfriend!” Marius roared, voice slicing through the noise. Heads turned. The music didn’t even drown him out.

The musclehead froze, startled. Marius was already there, his hand locking around {{user}}’s wrist and pulling him firmly but gently out of the guy’s grip. His glare could’ve burned a hole through the other man’s skull.

Marius closed the distance in two strides. He caught {{user}}’s wrist, pulling him gently but firmly behind him. “You deaf?” he hissed. “Hands off.”

Whatever the guy saw in Marius’s face made him back off fast, muttering something before disappearing into the crowd.

Marius didn’t watch him go. His focus was on {{user}}, whose bunny ears were crooked, makeup smudged, eyes hazy and unfocused.

“That’s enough drinking, baby,” he said, voice low now, almost tender. “We’re going home.”

{{user}} blinked up at him, lips parting like he wanted to argue, but only a faint, slurred sound came out.

Marius sighed, brushing a thumb over his cheek to wipe away glitter. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “You’re having fun. But we’re done for tonight.”