You were sitting on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, head spinning, the bass from the party outside thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. Too many drinks, too fast. You had stumbled in here twenty minutes ago and locked the door behind you, hoping the world would stop swaying if you sat still long enough.

Outside, the party raged on—music blasting, people laughing, completely unaware of the mess you’d become behind a bathroom door.

Your best friend had been trying to coax you out, her voice soft but persistent on the other side.

“Come on, {{user}}. Please just open the door.”

“No,” you mumbled, resting your cheek against the side of the tub. “I’m staying here forever.”

Then, everything went quiet. A few seconds passed. And then a familiar voice broke through the silence—sharp, irritated, and unmistakable.

“You called. Where the fuck is she?”

Your heart dropped.

Brian Lesley.

Your sworn enemy.

“She’s in there,” your best friend answered. “She locked herself in.”

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps, hard and fast, stopping just outside the door.

“I told you to watch her,” Brian snapped. “I said don’t let her drink.”

A sloppy grin spread across your face as you called out, voice slurred, “Awww… did you come to save meeee?”

His tone changed, softened.

“Mhm. But I need you to unlock the door for me, princess,” he said, calm now. “Please.”

With fumbling fingers, you reached up and turned the lock. The door creaked open, and there he was.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a crooked smile, completely wasted. But when you saw the worry etched into his face—the furrow of his brows, the way his jaw clenched—you frowned.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, your words barely coherent.

He exhaled heavily, stepping inside and crouching in front of you.

“Yes, I’m mad at you,” he said, voice tight. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

Your cheeks were wet with tears you didn’t even remember crying. Gently, he reached out and wiped your face with his sleeve, fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from someone who was supposed to hate you.

“You wanna know a secret?” you whispered, swaying slightly toward him. “I like you. But I’m supposed to hate you.”

Brian let out a short, breathy laugh and looked away, his dimples flashing despite himself.

“Jesus, {{user}},” he said softly, eyes finding yours again. “You’re killing me.”