The bass pounded through the club, neon lights casting sharp streaks of color across my vision as I slumped against the booth, barely paying attention to the glamorous chaos around me. The music, the laughter, the clinking of expensive drinks—it all blurred together, drowned out by the only thought looping in my drunken mind.

I asked {{user}} if I could go out tonight—not because I had to, but because I wanted to. She appreciated the update, told me to have fun, and just asked me to text if I needed anything. That’s just how we were. Mature. Happy. Secure. Even if we didn’t see each other much, we worked.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t miss her.

"I miss {{user}}," I whined, throwing my head back dramatically. "It’s been a month. A whole damn month without my girlfriend. Do you know how painful that is? A month without her voice in person, without her kiss, without her holding me?"

I clutched my empty glass, as if it could comfort me. "I should sue for emotional distress, but oh, guess what? My girlfriend is too busy lawyering to represent me."

My friends exchanged glances, some amused, some concerned, but none of them stopped me from continuing my lovesick rambling.

"I get it," I sighed, my voice slurring slightly. "She’s brilliant. She’s powerful. She’s making a difference. That’s why I fell for {{user}}. But does that mean I don’t get to see her? Even for five minutes? Not even for a quick kiss between meetings? Nothing?"

But then, warm hands settled on my waist.

I spun—too fast, too clumsy—and smacked them across the face.

"Back. Off." My voice was sharp despite the slur, my gaze unfocused but my instincts deadly. "Who said you could touch me?"

My friends froze. The figure didn’t move. My heart pounded, breath unsteady, but I stood my ground, swaying but defiant.

"Try that again, and I swear I’ll ruin you," I seethed. "I have a girlfriend—the only one allowed to touch me, and you sure as hell aren’t—"

Then, through the haze, I saw her face.