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The liquid courage pours into a red solo cup, clear and deceptively innocent. I bring it to my lips, the sharp scent stinging my nostrils before the first drop hits my tongue. It's a shock, fire and ice sliding down my throat—a contradiction that thrills and terrifies. The taste is bitter, acrid, but there's something else too: a sweetness that lingers, tempting me totake another sip, and then another. The warmth spreads, a slow bloom in my belly that curls outward, licking at my limbs with tendrils of false confidence. My head feels lighter. The world tilts just a bit, and I smile—a little too wide, a little too bright.
Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep inside, unchecked and giddy. I try to navigate back through the crowd, my steps less precise, my body swaying to a rhythm only I can hear. Conversations twist and warp around me, syllables stretching into nonsense. I catch snippets—an "omg" here, a "no way" there—my mind unable to string them together into coherence.
"Whoa." My foot catches on the edge of a rug, sending me lurching forward. Arms flail, seeking balance that refuses to come. A hand grips my elbow, steadying me, but I shrug it off with a giggle that doesn't sound like me. It's someone braver, someone who doesn't care about stumbling or slurring.
"Autumn, you good?" someone asks, a faceless voice in the sea of bodies.
"Never better," I slur, words dissolving into laughter again. But beneath the mirth, there's a thread of panic weaving its way through the haze. I'm untethered, floating in this space where every sensation is amplified, and every emotion is raw and exposed.
It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It's everything I didn't know I craved.
The thump of the bass dulls, a distant drum as a hand—Brennan's hand—encircles my wrist, firm but not harsh. I’m adrift in a sea of raucous laughter and jostling bodies, and his touch is an anchor. I look up, meeting his gaze, and there's something fiercely protective in those piercing blue eyes.
"Let's get you some air," he murmurs, his voice threading through the chaos with ease.
I nod, more a bob of my head really, the room tilting dangerously. Brennan steadies me, guiding me with a sureness that belies the uncertainty I've glimpsed in him before. He's the epitome of control—the contrast couldn't be starker.
We weave through the throng of my classmates, his presence parting them like he's Moses and they're the Red Sea. The cooler air of the hallway hits my skin, and I suck in a breath, trying to will away the dizziness. Brennan doesn't let go, his grip a silent promise that he won't let me fall.
"Here." His voice is soft now, and when did we enter this quiet room away from the noise? A bottle of water appears in my hands, and I fumble with the cap, my fingers clumsy.
"Easy," he coaches, patience lacing his tone as he helps twist open the bottle. "Drink slowly."
It's then that I realize how close he is, the warmth of him enveloping me in a safe bubble. I tip the water to my lips, a little spilling down my chin, and Brennan’s thumb is there, catching the drops. His touch sends a jolt through me, igniting places I didn't know could burn with such intensity.
"Better?" he asks, concern etching his brow.
"Y-yeah," I manage, and it's true. The room has ceased its spinning, just for a moment, and it's all because of him. His proximity is intoxicating, more so than the alcohol that still courses through my veins.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words feeling too big for my mouth.
"Anytime, Autumn." There's a weight to his words, a gravity that tells me he means them in more ways than one.
His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from my face, and I shiver at the contact. There's care in his action, a tenderness that speaks of desires hidden deep beneath the surface. In this dimly lit room, with Brennan’s gaze locked on mine, I see the truth that everyone else misses—the vulnerability that mirrors my own.
"Stay close to me tonight," he says, not as a question but as a plea laced with dark edges.
And I realize, with a heartbeat that thrums loud in my ears, that I want nothing more.
I lean against the cold wall, the thumping bass from the speakers vying for space within my chest. Brennan's eyes never stray far, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos of the party. His gaze is a tether, keeping me anchored in a sea of writhing bodies and hormonal frenzy.
"Ever tried beer pong?" he asks, his voice a low rumble over the noise. There's a playful tilt to his mouth that I haven't seen before, a crack in the quarterback's armor.
"Can't say I have," I admit, and there's laughter dancing in his eyes, an invitation to something new, something thrilling.
"Let's change that." He tugs me gently by the hand, and I follow, my heart racing at the touch, the warmth of his skin against mine searing through my nerves.
We weave through the crowd, and Brennan positions me at one end of a makeshift table, lined with red cups waiting to be toppled. "Just aim and throw," he instructs, demonstrating with an ease that speaks of countless games played and won.
My first shot misses by a mile, but Brennan just chuckles, his delight genuine, free from any malice. "You'll get it," he encourages, and I can't help but smile back, caught in the gravity of his optimism.
"Your turn," I say, a challenge wrapped in a flutter of eyelashes. He takes his shot, and the ball sinks with precision. A cheer erupts from those watching, but his attention stays fixed on me, as if we're the only two people in the room.
"Tell me something nobody else knows," Brennan says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear. It's a game within a game, a push and pull of secrets and confessions.
"I used to collect leaves in a scrapbook when I was little," I whisper back, the confession feeling both silly and intimate in this setting.
"Autumn and her leaves," he muses, a grin spreading across his face. "Fitting."
