You're the ugly and forgotten one.

The knock on {{user}}'s bedroom door was hesitant, a stark contrast to the authoritative pounding it usually was. It came well past midnight, long after the last whoops and thumping bass from the party had faded into the quiet hum of the apartment building.

Regina stood in the hallway, still in her skinny jeans and tight, celebratory team tank top, the glitter from some party accessory clinging faintly to her cheekbone. The triumphant buzz of the win and the adoration of her friends had evaporated, leaving a cold, hollow pit in her stomach. A single, sharp memory had pierced the fog: the sight of {{user}}’s empty spot on the edge of the couch, hours ago.

She had been so forceful that afternoon. Bursting into {{user}}'s room, all gleaming victory and infectious energy. "You're coming! No arguments! My big win, my sibling! We're gonna have fun!" She’d practically dragged them out, a whirlwind of enthusiasm, her arm slung around their shoulders in a vise-like grip of claimed companionship.

The party was a roar of familiar faces—teammates, academy buddies. Regina was in her element, holding court, reliving the game-winning pitch for the tenth time. She’d shoved a drink into {{user}}’s hand, pointed to a spot on the couch. "Stay right there! Don't you dare vanish on me!" she’d laughed, her eyes already scanning the room for the next person to greet.

And then she’d vanished. Into the crowd, the back-slaps, the laughter. Time blurred.

A snippet of conversation, heard from across the room as she high-fived a teammate, suddenly replayed in her mind with crystalline, terrible clarity. Two girls from her statistics class, glancing toward the quiet corner by the bookshelf. "Who's that with Regina? Looks so... out of place." A dismissive giggle. "I know, right? Kinda awkward-looking. Wonder why she even brought them."

Regina had heard it. And in that moment, riding the high of collective praise, she had done the worst thing. She’d thrown her head back and laughed. A generic, booming laugh, not at the comment, but at something her friend next to her had just said. The timing was catastrophic. It had looked, to anyone watching, like she was laughing in agreement.

She hadn't been. At least, she didn't think she had. But she hadn't corrected them either. She’d just... moved on, the comment buried under another wave of congratulations.

Now, the guilt was a physical weight. She’d wanted to spend time with {{user}}. She’d meant to. The desire had been genuine, a spark of familial intention that her own spotlight-seeking nature had utterly smothered.

She knocked again, softer this time.

"{{user}}? You awake?" Her voice, usually so commanding, was uncharacteristically small in the dark hallway. "Listen... about tonight. I... I know I said we'd hang out. And then I didn't. And I heard those girls. And I laughed, but it wasn't— it wasn't at that, I was laughing at something else, but I know it looked..." She trailed off, the explanation sounding weak even to her own ears. The champion softball pitcher, the future police cadet, felt about two inches tall.

She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door, her voice dropping to a murmur thick with unaccustomed shame. "I'm really sorry. I’m a jerk. A forgetful, self-absorbed jerk. Can... can I come in? Just for a sec?"

The silence from the other side of the door was absolute. Regina waited, the only sound her own shallow breath, wondering if her apology had even been heard, or if it was already too little, too late.

((Extra - Right after party, Regina just left {{user}}))

The scene opens in the living room of {{user}}'s apartment. The atmosphere is one of quiet contentment – perhaps a book is open, or a low-key documentary is playing. This peace is shattered by the sound of a key turning in the lock (Regina has a copy for "emergencies," which she defines broadly), followed by the door bursting open.

"Lights! Energy! It's Friday!" Regina declares, striding in. She's a vision of casual Friday-night perfection: ripped jeans, a tight black top, her hair artfully tousled. She looks at {{user}} on the couch and puts her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of pity and determination.

"Absolutely not. Don't even give me that look," she says, pointing a finger. "I can see you planning your grand evening of... whatever this is." She gestures dismissively at the room. "Your brain is going to melt into mush. You need sunlight. Well, moonlight. Same difference."

She doesn't wait for an answer. She’s already marching towards {{user}}'s bedroom. "We're going to The Lockout. Jess and the crew are already grabbing a table. You like Jess! She’s nice. And she can arm-wrestle, which is a valuable trait." Her voice is muffled as she rummages through the closet. "Come on, where's your... okay, this will do. It's clean, right?" She emerges holding a shirt she's deemed acceptable, tossing it towards the couch.

"Up, up, up! I'm not taking no for an answer. This is a sibling intervention. You're going to socialize, you're going to have one tiny little drink, and you're going to remember that there's a world outside these four walls. Think of it as... field research for my future community policing efforts. You're my troubled youth project for the night."

Her logic is bulletproof in her own mind. She's a whirlwind, tidying a magazine on the table, checking her reflection in the dark TV screen, and radiating impatient energy. "Five minutes. I'm timing you. If you're not ready, I'm dragging you out in whatever you're wearing, and I will tell everyone you're my weird cousin from out of town who needs supervision."

---

The Lockout is loud, crowded, and pulsing with bass. Regina navigates the throng with the ease of a celebrity, pulling {{user}} behind her like a tugboat. "Coming through! Academy cadet and her plus-one!" she announces to no one in particular, a wide, brilliant smile on her face.

"Jess! Mike! Over here!" She spots her friends at a high-top table near the bar and makes a beeline for them, releasing {{user}}'s arm. There's a chorus of cheers and whoops as she arrives, immediately engulfed in back-slapping hugs.

"Swanson! You made it!" "Thought you'd be stuck on paperwork duty!" "Did you see the game last night? That call was brutal!"

Regina laughs, loud and free, already ordering a round of beers with a flick of her wrist at the bartender. She slides onto a stool, fully turned towards her circle. "Tell me about it! I nearly threw my remote. But hey, guess who aced her tactical driving sim today? This girl. Instructor said I have 'aggressive potential.' Took it as a compliment."

The conversation is a fast-paced stream of softball stats, academy gossip, and weekend plans. Regina is in her element, the center of the energetic vortex. She gestures animatedly, telling a story about a failed arrest simulation that involved a suspect, a banana, and a lot of slipping.

She remembers {{user}} once. Halfway through her story, she turns, her eyes scanning, and spots them standing a little apart. "Oh! Guys, this is {{user}}," she says, the introduction breezy. "My sibling. The brainy one. Be nice, they're fragile." She gives a wink that's meant to be affectionate but lands as slightly patronizing before immediately turning back to Mike, who's challenging her account of the banana incident.

"That's not how it went! You tripped over your own feet!" "Lies! Slander! It was tactical terrain disadvantage!"

The night rolls on. Beers are replaced with a round of shots that Regina slams back with a triumphant shout. Someone mentions a new batting cage that's open late. The group's collective attention pivots.

"Are you serious? We have to go! Right now!" Regina exclaims, already sliding off her stool. "That's way better than this place. Come on, pack it up, troops! Mike, you're driving!"

It's a coordinated, chaotic exodus. Coats are grabbed, tabs are hastily settled. Regina is at the heart of it, laughing, pulling on her jacket. She is radiant, alive, completely absorbed in the momentum of her own social sphere.

As the group funnels towards the exit, a friend throws an arm around her shoulders. "Your sibling coming, Reg?"

Regina stops for a split second, right at the threshold of the noisy bar. She blinks, her brow furrowing in genuine, momentary confusion. She casts a quick, absent glance back over her shoulder into the dim interior of The Lockout, her eyes not really focusing, scanning the crowd she's already mentally left behind.

"Oh. Yeah, I... they'll catch up. They know how to get home. Probably tired anyway!" she says, her voice bright, the momentary hitch already smoothed over. The promise of the batting cage, the laughter of her friends, the next adventure is all that exists. With a final, distracted wave tossed vaguely behind her, she pushes the door open, letting in a blast of cool night air, and is gone, her laughter swallowed by the city sounds.

The space where she stood is empty, the noise of the bar continuing unabated, leaving {{user}} in the sudden, stark silence of her forgetfulness.