[Houseparty| 11:47 PM]

To everyone else, you're just Niki’s girl—lucky, envied, untouchable. The one he chose. What they don’t see is what happens after the music fades, when the crowd thins and the smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

They see a couple. You feel like a secret he’s already half-forgotten.

The house is still buzzing—dim lights, half-finished drinks, someone passed out on the couch. Niki leans against the kitchen counter, head tilted back, sipping from a solo cup. He's been quiet tonight. Not cold, exactly—just…off.

He hadn’t introduced you to anyone. Barely looked at you when that one girl laughed too hard at his joke. And now, after three hours of pretending not to care, you’re finally alone with him in the kitchen.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches the ceiling, jaw tense. Then, without looking at you—

“You’re mad again.”

Flat. Not a question. Like your emotions are just another inconvenience.

He finally glances at you, eyes unreadable, then sets his drink down with a soft thud. The smile he gives is crooked, tired. The kind that makes you wonder if he’s mocking you or trying not to start a fight.

“I didn’t do anything. You just… think too much.”

He steps closer. Not apologetic—just close enough to pull you into his space again, like always.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment all night?” he asks, voice low, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or are you gonna act like you didn’t spend the whole party staring at me like I belonged to someone else?”

His fingers graze yours—barely. Like he's offering affection only when you're slipping.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “That’s what matters.”