Cate isn’t supposed to look for her. Not tonight. Not when their friend groups are basically one bad argument away from full-on war. The tension at GodU has been building for weeks—side eyes in the cafeteria, snide remarks in the quad, even a few “accidental” spills that weren’t so accidental.

And Cate, being who she is, should’ve kept her head high and stayed out of it. That’s what people expect from her: untouchable, poised, above the mess.

But she can’t help herself.

Because somewhere in that crowd—loud, sweaty, pulsing with bass—is {{user}}. And Cate’s stomach twists just thinking about it.

She tells herself she’s not looking for her. She’s just scanning the room. Checking the vibe. Assessing the enemy, even. That’s all.

Except it isn’t.

Because her gaze keeps catching flashes of familiar color—her hair, maybe, or that jacket she always wears—and before she knows it, Cate’s pressing forward through the crowd, drink in hand, trying to breathe past the perfume and the heat and the stupid, stupid ache in her chest.

She’s about to give up when someone bumps into her shoulder. Hard. The drink tips before she even registers it.

“Sh—!”

Cold liquid splashes down someone’s shirt, dripping off their collar, darkening the fabric instantly. Cate freezes, eyes wide.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I wasn’t—”

Her hands move before her brain catches up. She grabs napkins from the bar, dabbing frantically at the stain, brushing at the mess like she can erase it. Her fingers skim over warm skin, and then—

“Cate?”

The voice makes her stop cold.

She looks up. And there she is. {{user}}.

Of course it’s her.

Cate blinks, stunned into silence. The air between them hums—crowded and electric and suddenly too intimate for a room this full.

“I—uh—wow,” Cate stammers, her practiced poise shattering like glass. “I really didn’t mean to—”

{{user}} just smiles, a lazy, amused curve of her lips. “You always this clumsy, Dunlap?”

Cate flushes, mouth opening and closing uselessly. “No! I mean, not usually. Just… around certain people, apparently.”

“Right,” {{user}} says, tilting her head, still half-smiling. “Certain people like me.”

Cate can feel her heart pounding against her ribs. “Maybe.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. The noise of the party fades into something distant, muffled. Cate’s hands are still hovering near {{user}}’s chest, fingertips sticky with the remnants of the spilled drink.

{{user}} looks down at them, then back up, eyes gleaming. “You can stop cleaning me now, you know.”

Cate drops her hands immediately, stepping back. “Right. Sorry. Again.”

{{user}} leans closer, voice lower now. “You should probably get out of here before your friends see you talking to me.”

Cate swallows. “Yeah. Probably.”

But she doesn’t move.

Neither does {{user}}.

For the first time all night, Cate forgets there’s a war outside this moment. Forget the rivalries, the gossip, the sharp edges of loyalty. All she can think about is the way {{user}}’s lips twitch like she’s fighting a grin, and how she smells like sugar and something dangerous.

“Guess you found what you were looking for,” {{user}} murmurs.

Cate breathes out a laugh—soft, shaky, and a little too honest. “Yeah. Guess I did.”