𝓛𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓨𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓁

The party is loud, the bass from the speakers thumping through the floorboards, but Lamine feels like he's underwater. He's surrounded by friends, people he's known forever, yet he's never felt more alone. He keeps his drink steady in his hand, his jaw tight as he forces himself to nod along to conversations that mean nothing to him. His mind keeps betraying him.

Every time he closes his eyes for even a second, he's right back there the heat, the haze, that one night that was supposed to be the exception, not the rule. It was supposed to be one and done, a fleeting moment that would fade with the morning light, but instead, it's become a ghost that follows him everywhere.

He knows he shouldn't be looking. He knows he should play it cool, keep the friendship intact, and pretend that he doesn't remember how everything shifted between them. But he can't stop. He's caught in a cycle of wondering where that feeling went, why it vanished the moment the sun came up, and why the memory of it feels more real than anything else in this room.

Lamine shifts his position, his gaze scanning the crowd involuntarily. His heart hammers against his ribs when he spots them across the room, and suddenly, the music feels too loud and the room feels too small.