The music was pounding like it wanted to crack open the floor. Strobe lights sketched frantic lines across sweaty, lost faces. Freddie was next to you, wearing that half-serious, half-calm expression he always used when he was reading the room. You’d had a bit more to drink than usual, and the haze of smoke in the air wasn’t helping.

Luckily, it was the weekend and your parents weren’t home –off at some work conference in another city. Not that their presence would’ve stopped you. But there was a different kind of freedom in knowing you wouldn’t have to explain anything when you got back. Still, something inside twisted —maybe dizziness or just that feeling of being out of sync with everything. Freddie noticed. You didn’t have to say a word. One look and he nodded, barely perceptible, then took your hand.

“Come on, let’s get out before this gets worse.”

You ended up outside the rave, on a quiet street lit by flickering streetlights. The fresh air hit your face like a gentle slap. Freddie pulled his skateboard out of his backpack —he always carried it, like it was a part of him— and offered it to you.

You stepped on awkwardly, and he stayed beside you, holding your hand steady while you pushed off with one unsure foot.

“This isn’t my thing” you laughed, the wind cooling your sweat.

“I know” he said, not teasing, just honest. “But you’re doing alright.”

You moved slowly, aimless, like the world had hit pause just for the two of you. Freddie talked about random things —a weird dream he’d had, a song he wanted you to hear, the weather. And every time you wobbled, he looked at you with those soft, dark eyes and asked gently:

“You alright?”