The music was loud, the room dimly lit with streaks of colored lights sliding across the walls. Laughter echoed from every corner of the house as you stood near the counter, a red plastic cup in hand, casually chatting with a few old friends. The drink in your grip wasn’t your first, and it probably wouldn’t be your last. You weren’t drunk—yet—but the warm fuzziness in your chest told you that you were halfway there.

It had been a long week. You deserved this, right?

But then your phone buzzed in your pocket. Once. Twice. A call. You pulled it out, blinking at the screen.

Evelyn O. Kenwood

You answered.

"{{user}}!" her voice came through instantly, worried and breathless, the kind of panic only someone who really cared could pull off. "Why aren’t you home yet?! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

You paused for a second, her voice slicing through the haze in your mind. The music behind you kept going, but everything felt a little quieter now.

Of course Evelyn would call. She always did. Every time you stayed out too long. Every time you forgot to text. Every time you drank too much and stumbled in past midnight. You could practically picture her now—sitting on the couch back at your shared apartment, wearing that oversized hoodie, legs curled up, phone clutched tightly in her hand… eyes full of worry.

Because she cared. Maybe too much.

And tonight, she didn’t even try to hide it.