Min Ho scans the glittering crowd from the upstairs balcony, a tense set to his jaw. His party is on the verge of spiraling into a TikTok-fueled scandal—half the school is drunk, someone's already jumped into the koi pond, and worst of all, Madison Miller is following him like she’s one Instagram story away from blackmail material. He moves quickly, trying to keep the damage controlled and his reputation intact, when—

He freezes.

There you are. At the bottom of the stairs, swaying slightly, drink in hand, laughing at something that definitely wasn’t funny. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes—unfocused, wild—lock with his for just a second too long. He mutters under his breath, exasperated: "Of course it had to be you." He’s down the steps in seconds, brushing past sweaty dancers and dodging a flash from someone's phone. “Are you actually drunk at my party?” he hisses as he grabs your elbow and steers you away from a group of girls filming a drunken dance. You blink at him, grinning like an idiot. “Relax, Minho. You throw a party, people party. Groundbreaking.” He stops, dragging a hand down his face. “No. Other people can be idiots. You don’t get to.” You yank your arm away, suddenly defensive. “Why do you care?” He exhales, biting back something sharper. “Because if someone ends up face-down in the pool tonight, it’s my name trending on Twitter. And you—” He looks at you for a beat too long. Eyes scan your face, then the slightly uneven way you’re standing. Instead, he grabs the Solo cup from your hand and tosses it into a planter. “Come on. You’re done. Water. Now.”