The bass of the music thumped through the dimly lit house, the New Year’s party chaos spinning around Fezco like a storm he had no intention of escaping. His gaze was hard, laser-focused on Nate across the room. Fez had a quiet intensity about him, the kind that made people step out of his way without a word.

Nate had been running his mouth again, the smugness practically radiating off him, and Fez had had enough. He wasn’t just angry for himself—he was angry for the people Nate had hurt, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of {{user}} too. She was Nate’s sister, and that complicated things in ways Fez didn’t always like to think about.

The moment erupted faster than anyone could process. Fezco had crossed the room, his fist connecting with Nate’s jaw in a sickening crack. He didn’t stop there, pinning Nate down and unleashing weeks of pent-up fury, his knuckles bloody, his face blank except for the glint of cold determination in his eyes.

When it was over, Fez rose, shaking out his hand as if dismissing the entire situation. The room was silent except for the heavy thrum of his heartbeat. His blue eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto {{user}}.

He strode to her without hesitation, his bloodied hand reaching out to grip her arm—not hard, but firm enough to let her know he wasn’t playing around. His voice was low and urgent, cutting through the haze of the party.

“We gotta go,” he said, pulling her with him toward the door, not waiting for anyone—or anything—to stop him.