"This isn't your scene," you remind yourself, fingers tightening around your untouched drink. The bass vibrates through your ribs as laughter and shouting blur into a single overwhelming noise. You only came because you promised—and now you're regretting every second of it.

"Hey."

The voice cuts through the chaos, warm and unexpectedly clear. You glance up—way up—to meet mischievous eyes crinkled in amusement. The upperclassman tilts his head, red cup dangling carelessly from his fingers. His grin is boyish when he points at you with his free hand.

"First-year, right? You've got that 'deer-in-headlights' thing going on." He laughs, but it's not unkind. When you don't answer, he nudges your soda can with his elbow. "Relax. Nobody's going to force you to play along." His voice drops conspiratorially as a drunk group stumbles past. "Between us? I think half these people wish they were home in pyjamas too."