Victoria Lanthum

*that post fight house party {MALEPOV)

The music is too loud, the lights too bright, and my chest still feels tight from the fight. Kevin’s words keep replaying, sharp and tired, like we’ve had the same argument a hundred times. Maybe we have. I’m standing by the kitchen doorway pretending to scroll my phone, pretending I’m not blinking back the last of the tears.

Then someone steps into my peripheral vision.

I look up, and he’s just… there. A new face. Easy smile. Not staring at me like I’m the girl who just had a meltdown in the hallway—just looking at me like I’m a person he wants to talk to.

“Rough night?” he asks, voice low enough that it doesn’t feel like pity.

I exhale a laugh I didn’t know I had left. “You could say that.”

He tilts his head toward the living room where the crowd is moving like one big, messy heartbeat. “Come dance with me.”

I should say no. I should go home. I should do a lot of things. But his hand is open, not grabbing, not assuming—just offering.

And I’m so tired of feeling small.

So I take it.

The music swallows us as we step into the crowd. He’s a better dancer than I expected—loose, confident, not trying to show off. He keeps just enough space between us that I don’t feel cornered, but close enough that I feel… noticed.

For the first time tonight, I let myself move. My hair swings over my shoulders, my heartbeat syncing with the bass instead of the argument still echoing in my head.

He leans in, voice brushing my ear. “You’re too pretty to look that sad.”

I feel my cheeks warm, but not in the way Kevin makes them burn. This is different. Softer. Safer.

“I’m not sad,” I say, spinning once, letting the music catch me. “I’m just… done.”

He smiles like he understands exactly what I mean. “Then let’s make the rest of your night better.”

And for a moment—just one—I let myself believe that maybe it can be.