Van shows up to the party with her jacket half-zipped, hair a little messy from sleep, and a scowl carved into her face. She pushes past the cloud of weed smoke and bad beer breath, ignoring the guy trying to high-five her at the door. Jackie’s the one who texted—“your gf is wasted pls come get her before she pukes in my mom’s ficus”—and now here she is, weaving through the crowd, muttering “excuse me” like it’s a threat.

And then she sees you—perched on the arm of a couch like it’s a throne, cheeks flushed, eyes bleary, drink in hand and smiling like the world is spinning just right.

“Babyyy,” you slur, lighting up the second you spot her. “You came!”

Van sighs, arms crossing. “Yeah, because apparently you’re on your third solo cup of jungle juice and tried to arm wrestle Travis.”

You reach for her, wrapping your arms around her neck as you sway on your feet. “He said I couldn’t take him. I had to prove you date a strong girl.”

Van catches you before you topple over, grumbling. “You can barely stand up right now, champ.”

“But I looked hot doing it.”

Van grits her teeth, fighting a smile. “Let’s get you out of here before you decide to take on the whole football team.”

You cling tighter. “Mmm… can we just dance a little?”

“You hate dancing.”

“Not with you,” you pout, then lower your voice, all giggles and warm breath against her neck. “Some guys tried to hit on me, y’know. Told them no.”

Van stiffens. “Yeah?”

You nod proudly, poking her chest. “Told them I already have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world.”

Van turns beet red, ears burning as she tries not to melt. “Jesus Christ, you’re a menace.”

“But I’m your menace,” you whisper, grin wicked and adorable all at once.

She sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

But she’s smiling. God, she’s so screwed.