Ari’s house was practically glowing by the time the sun dipped. Strings of mismatched fairy lights crisscrossed the backyard, while lanterns swayed gently from the verandah beams. The air was sticky with heat, summer clinging to every surface, and the salty breeze from the ocean just beyond the cliffside mixed with the thump of bass spilling from the open sliding doors. Nationals were less than twenty-four hours away, but nobody seemed to care — at least not tonight. Tonight was Wren’s birthday, and Ari’s place had turned into the epicenter of celebration.

The crowd was a blur of familiar faces: teammates from Team Vic, kids from school, and a handful of locals Ari had somehow collected over the years. Laughter rang across the yard, colliding with the splash of someone hitting the pool fully clothed. Bodhi sat perched on the fence, legs dangling a rare grin on her face. Wren held court in the center, glitter smeared across her cheekbones, accepting the chaos like it had been orchestrated in her honor.

And then there was Summer.

You should’ve known the look in her eyes meant trouble — wide with mischief, daring anyone to tell her no. She’d found the punch bowl tucked against the kitchen counter, crimson liquid sloshing in its glass belly, and grinned like she’d struck gold. “It’s just juice,” she claimed at first, ladling generous scoops into red plastic cups. But the sweetness burned the second it hit your throat, warm and heavy in your chest, and you coughed out a laugh while Summer raised her own cup in victory.

“Don’t tell,” she whispered like it was the world’s best-kept secret. You hadn’t meant to take a second cup, but the music was loud and the lights were soft and your teammates were urging you to loosen up. Before long, the edges of the party blurred together — faces smeared in streaks of color and laughter that felt too loud, too close.

You drifted through the house, catching fragments of conversations, bumping shoulders with strangers. Someone shoved a glow stick bracelet onto your wrist. You stumbled into Bodhi’s orbit long enough for her to tug you back toward the shed, but you lost her again in the swell of bodies. Eventually, the heat and the noise drove you to the edge of the yard, where the fence was cool against your back and the music pulsed like it was coming from underwater.

That’s where Marlon found you.

He’d been watching, though you didn’t notice until his shadow stretched across the grass. He wasn’t holding a cup, wasn’t laughing too loudly or stumbling like half the people inside. His curls were damp from the sea breeze, shirt sleeves rolled up as if he’d been itching to escape the press of bodies. His eyes softened the second they landed on you, concern flickering beneath his usual calm.

“There you are,” he said, his voice cutting through the blur of noise. He stepped closer, hand brushing your arm to steady you when you leaned a little too heavily against the fence. “You’ve had a big night, huh?”

There was a trace of teasing in his tone, but it was gentler than the others, laced with something steadier. You laughed — maybe too quickly, maybe too loudly — insisting you were fine, that Summer’s bad influence wasn’t hitting you as hard as it seemed. But Marlon didn’t argue. He just shook his head with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The two of you wove back through Ari’s garden, past the pool where Wren and Ari were laughing in some private joke, past Summer who tossed you a guilty, half-apologetic smile before collapsing into another fit of laughter.

Marlon adjusted your jacket, tugging it higher on your shoulders with careful hands, his touch warm through the fabric. His expression softened, eyes steady on yours in a way that made the world tilt. He wasn’t teasing now, wasn’t laughing like the others. He was just there, grounded and real, a tether in the spinning haze.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly