It happened. Yeah. Tina’s Halloween party.

You spilled punch down the front of your shirt—sticky and cold—and stumbled into the bathroom, heart pounding and head spinning. Jonathan was right behind you, worry written all over his face.

“{{user}}, hey... just calm down, okay?”

You swayed on your feet, water splashing as you tried to scrub at the stain. Your voice was thick and slurred.

“It’s bullshit,” you said, voice wavering but sharp enough. “It’s all… bullshit.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened. “What—what do you mean?”

You blinked, trying to focus. “We’re pretending like we’re stupid teenagers and like we’re in love…”

Jonathan’s voice cracked, “Like we’re in love? You—you don’t love me?”

You repeated, quieter now, “It’s bullshit.”

Jonathan’s face fell. Hurt and disbelief washed over him. He said nothing more. Just muttered, “Okay,” and quietly left the room, leaving you alone with the cold sink and your spinning head.

You didn’t even notice Steve standing silently in the doorway, watching everything — but you didn’t care.

The rest of the night was a haze—a blur of half-remembered faces and muffled voices.

What you did remember was Steve’s steady hand on your shoulder, guiding you out of the party, into his car. How the warm night air felt against your skin as he drove you home without saying much.

And then, nothing.

When your eyes finally opened, you were in your own bed. The soft glow of the lamp in the corner painted shadows on the walls.

Steve was there, pulling the blanket over you, moving quickly like he wanted to be gone before you could say anything embarrassing.

But your hand shot out before you could stop it—clumsy, warm—grabbing his arm.

“Steve?”

He froze, looking down at you with something gentle and unreadable in his eyes.

For a moment, the room was still except for your uneven breathing and the quiet hum of the heater.