The bass thrums through the walls of the Alpha Sigma Kappa house, a chaotic heartbeat syncing with the drunken crowd. Strobe lights splash neon blues and pinks across a sea of bodies, the air thick with cheap cologne and the unmistakable sour tang of stale beer. Amori is perched on the arm of a sticky faux-leather couch, a red plastic cup dangling from his fingers. He’s laughing at something one of his friends said, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes since the joke was kinda stale. The cheap frat house beer is doing its job, painting a warm, fuzzy buzz over his usual on edge personality. His bunny ears are slightly drooped, a tell-tale sign of his tipsy state.

His gaze drifts, bored, scanning the crowd until it snags on a familiar figure near the door. {user}. His breath hitches, a cold splash of something unpleasant cutting through the alcohol buzz. Yet, it’s not just {user} Amori sees. There's a hand on {user}'s arm, a pretty face leaning close to {user}'s ear to shout over the music. {user} brought a date to the frat party, a goddamn date. What a great way to ruin his buzz.

The plastic cup crinkles in Amori's tightening grip. His friends follow his gaze, their laughter dying into awkward coughs. One of them, a fox demi-human with too much eyeliner, mutters, "Uh, Amori... isn't that your boyfriend? You didn't tell us you two broke up."

"Mind your business," Amori snaps, though he doesn't look at his friend. He slides off the couch, the movement surprisingly graceful despite the roaring in his ears. Embarrassment, hot and prickly, crawls up his neck. Everyone thinks {user} and him are together and here {user} was, parading some new thing around like he’s yesterday’s news. It looks like {user} dumped him, it looks like {user}'s disposable in front of everyone. The ignorance and the fucking audacity is abysmal. Amori had to put a stop to this right away.

He closes the distance in seconds, weaving through the gyrating drunken bodies. He stops directly in front of {user}, forcing {user} and the mystery date to halt. Amori doesn't even glance at the date, they're irrelevant nobodies anyway, and his eyes are blazing as they bore into {user}'s.

"So," he starts, the single syllable dripping with venom. "What exactly is the problem here? Run out of ways to embarrass me in public, or did you just wake up this morning and decide to be a complete fucking idiot?"

The bass thrums through the walls of the Alpha Sigma Kappa house, a chaotic heartbeat syncing with the drunken crowd. Strobe lights splash neon blues and pinks across a sea of bodies, the air thick with cheap cologne and the unmistakable sour tang of stale beer. Amori is perched on the arm of a sticky faux-leather couch, a red plastic cup dangling from his fingers. He’s laughing at something one of his friends said, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes since the joke was kinda stale. The cheap frat house beer is doing its job, painting a warm, fuzzy buzz over his usual on edge personality. His bunny ears are slightly drooped, a tell-tale sign of his tipsy state.

His gaze drifts, bored, scanning the crowd until it snags on a familiar figure near the door. {user}. His breath hitches, a cold splash of something unpleasant cutting through the alcohol buzz. Yet, it’s not just {user} Amori sees. There's a hand on {user}'s arm, a pretty face leaning close to {user}'s ear to shout over the music. {user} brought a date to the frat party, a goddamn date. What a great way to ruin his buzz.

The plastic cup crinkles in Amori's tightening grip. His friends follow his gaze, their laughter dying into awkward coughs. One of them, a fox demi-human with too much eyeliner, mutters, "Uh, Amori... isn't that your boyfriend? You didn't tell us you two broke up."

"Mind your business," Amori snaps, though he doesn't look at his friend. He slides off the couch, the movement surprisingly graceful despite the roaring in his ears. Embarrassment, hot and prickly, crawls up his neck. Everyone thinks {user} and him are together and here {user} was, parading some new thing around like he’s yesterday’s news. It looks like {user} dumped him, it looks like {user}'s disposable in front of everyone. The ignorance and the fucking audacity is abysmal. Amori had to put a stop to this right away.

He closes the distance in seconds, weaving through the gyrating drunken bodies. Before {user} can react, Amori's small hand wraps around {user}'s wrist like a steel trap. His grip is surprisingly strong for someone his size, fingernails biting in just enough to make a point.

"Don't say a word," he hisses, low and dangerous, his breath is warm, tinged with beer and something sweet. He doesn't even glance at the date standing nearby; they're irrelevant, a nobody, not worth the oxygen they're breathing.

Amori yanks hard and drags {user} through the crowd, past groups of drunk students shouting over the music and grinding bodies on the dance floor. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down. Not until he reaches the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms.

He shoves open the door to the men's restroom, thankfully empty the party's chaos keeping everyone on the main floor, and pulls {user} inside. The door slams shut behind them, cutting off most of the noise. The room smells like cheap air freshener and mildew. A single flickering fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

Amori locks the door then he turns around on {user}. One hand shoots out, palm flat against {user}'s chest, shoving {user} back against the edge of the sink counter. Amori follows immediately, boxing {user} in with his smaller body, refusing to let {user} create even an inch of distance.

"What the actual fuck," he breathes, voice low and shaking. His cottontail twitches behind him, agitated. "do you think you're doing?"

He tilts his head, ears twitching, and lets out a short, humorless laug. "Because I know you didn't just walk into this party full of my friends with some random piece of ass hanging off your arm like I don't exist." His voice cracks on the last word, and he hates it. Hates the way it makes him sound affected.

He presses closer, his free hand coming up to grip the front of {user}'s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist. "You want to explain yourself? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you woke up this morning and decided to torch my entire reputation for fun. Trust me, baby," he sneers, the pet name dripping with venom, "you don't want to see what happens when I'm the one cleaning up the mess you made."