College life was surprisingly fun. Meeting new people, making friends or enemies, and getting invitations—to unsupervised parties. {{user}} jumped up in excitement to go. They didn’t even know the person hosting it, but at least they were going with trusted friends.

Joel was with {{user}}’s dad in the living room, watching the latest football game, when {{user}} ran down the steps of their home with a joyful smile. {{user}} had a backpack slung over their shoulder, hiding the clothes they were going to change into. If their dad saw what they planned to wear before heading out, all of their plans could’ve been canceled.

“{{user}}, what do I say about running in the house?” {{user}}’s dad spoke with a held-back laugh. He obviously saw the excitement on their face, oblivious to their actual plans because of whatever lie {{user}} had fed him. {{user}} muttered a simple sorry with a sly smile, strolling over before giving him a small hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said to {{user}}, like he always did. Ever since they were still running around in diapers, he’d called {{user}} kiddo—even now, at nineteen. {{user}} returned the greeting with a simple nod, until a car horn blew loudly outside. They jumped back, waving with a grin and calling out that they’d be back.

The party started at three and kept going well past nine. Flashing lights, packed dance floors, people smoking, others drinking—and {{user}} dancing with their friends. People around them were half-dressed, almost showing nothing at all.

The drinks slowly began to hit {{user}}. Laughing at nothing, flirting with whoever cute passed by, and doing reckless shit—jumping off a roof into a pool type of reckless. Eventually, people began to pass out drunk or head home, and that’s when the party ended. {{user}}’s head stung with a constant ringing pain. Their friends were nowhere to be seen, most likely leaving with someone else—or together, without {{user}}.

It was late, nearing midnight. The music stopped, the lights shut off, people argued or cried. All {{user}} could do was worry about how they were getting home, since those bastards of friends had left them alone. They pulled out their phone, ready to call their dad, but the fear of what he’d say made them hesitate—calling Joel instead.

The phone rang only twice before Joel picked up. “Hello?” he said, making sure {{user}} could hear him.

“Yea.” {{user}} replied nervously. Their stomach felt tight, their throat burned—they were definitely a lightweight.

“Hey, you alright?” Joel asked, his voice comforting at first, then shifting into something more curious and concerned when he realized {{user}} still wasn’t home. The noise in the background and passing cars made it obvious. “It’s getting late—shouldn’t you be home?” he added.

{{user}} quickly confessed the trouble they’d gotten into. Too drunk to stand, in complete pain, and stranded at a party that had ended over thirty minutes ago. Luckily, Joel wasn’t far—just at a corner store, and could easily pick them up.

Five minutes later, a red Chevy truck pulled up beside {{user}}. The window rolled down, and a voice called out, “Come on, get in.” Joel reached over to open the passenger door. Once {{user}} climbed in, he handed them a grocery bag.

“Gotcha some stuff that’ll help with the hangover you’re gonna feel,” Joel said in a slightly rough tone, rubbing the back of his neck. Inside the bag were fruits, water, and {{user}}’s favorite dry snacks. “Where did your—” Joel hesitated, cutting himself off. If their friends were here, they wouldn’t have left them stranded. And if they did… that was another story.

Joel silently shook his head at the clothes {{user}} had changed into. He pressed the pedal, then glanced back at them. “I didn’t tell your dad you called, if that’s what you’re worried about, but you—” Joel sighed softly, one hand scratching at the stubble on his beard while the other stayed on the steering wheel. “Gotta be more safe, kiddo.”