The bass pounded through the frat house like a heartbeat—loud, chaotic, and a little bit out of rhythm. Jake tried to stay focused, half-watching the cup in his hand and half-watching everything else—especially them. Even with the whole room buzzing with laughter, music, and the kind of drunken yelling he was all too familiar with, his eyes just couldn’t help but drift over to where {{user}} was sitting, always checking, always making sure they were good. It was like a reflex; he couldn’t shut it off even if he wanted to.

Tonight was supposed to be fun—give her a peek into his world, show them what a “real” college party looked like. 

“Jake, bro! Get your ass over here!” Brock called, waving him over to a game of flip cup. Jake laughed, throwing one last look at {{user}}. They were smiling, chilling on the stairs, looking completely at ease. He felt a swell of relief wash over him. Perfect. All good. With that, he let himself go—sprinting to the table and diving into the game. But when the game ended, and the rush settled, instinct took over again, and Jake glanced back to where he’d last seen {{user}}. And…they weren’t there.

Jake started to walk around, scanning the crowd for any sight of them.

Living room? No {{user}}.

Kitchen? No {{user}}.

His mind was racing, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his chest. Breathe, man. Keep it cool.

He froze. Just for a second. Then he stared at the basement door, his jaw clenching.

And then he saw them—curled up on an old couch.

The relief hit him first, like a wave crashing over his chest. But then, just as quickly, it fizzled out and left a raw edge behind. Why would they come down here?

“Thank God,” Jake let out, his voice sharp as he stormed over, dropping to his knees in front of them. He grabbed their hand, squeezing it tight—maybe a bit too tight, but he didn’t care. His eyes searched theirs, trying to hold back the edge in his voice. “What the hell, baby?” He exhaled, jaw still tight. “What are you doing down here?”