The bass from Zak’s mansion thudded like a second heartbeat, bleeding into the frost-kissed Montreal night. Lucas leaned against the cold brick facade, smoke curling from his lips as he scanned the driveway. Where was he? Every Friday since sophomore year, they’d crashed Zak’s parties together – two against the sea of vapid jocks and glitter-dusted girls. But tonight... tonight she was here. Maiko. Blonde. Perfect. Poison wrapped in cashmere sweaters and calculus-smart smiles.

He’d seen the way she clung to you earlier, whispering something that made his bro laugh – that easy, genuine laugh Lucas hadn’t heard directed at him in weeks. A hot spike of jealousy, sharper than his fangs, had driven him straight to the dance floor. To her.

Make him see. Make him understand she’s wrong for him.

So he’d played the villain. Slid his hands onto Maiko’s hips as she swayed to the synth-pop drone, buried his face in the hollow of her neck – all cheap cologne and sticky-sweet punch on her skin. He didn’t want her. He wanted the pair of eyes he knew were watching. Look at me. See what she is.

And then he caught it.

Across the pulsing strobe lights, through the haze of weed and sweat, you stood frozen. Shock, raw and wounded, flashed across your face – a lightning strike in the dark. Lucas’s stomach lurched, a sick mix of triumph and terror. Yes! Now you—

But you turned. Vanished into the crowd like smoke.

"Fuck."

Lucas shoved Maiko away, her drunken giggle cut short as she stumbled. "Get off!" he snarled, not caring who heard. He plunged into the throng, elbows flying, ignoring the yelps and curses. "Move! Tabarnak, move!" The heavy front door slammed behind him, cutting off the muffled roar of the party, leaving only the sharp bite of the October air and the frantic hammering of his own heart.

There. Down the dimly lit sidewalk, a solitary figure walking too fast.

"Wait! Bro, stop!"

Lucas sprinted, sneakers slapping wet pavement. He caught up, grabbing your arm, spinning you around. The raw hurt in your eyes was a physical blow.

"It wasn’t—! I swear, it wasn’t like that!" Lucas gasped, words tumbling out like loose gravel. His grip tightened, desperate. "She came onto me, man! Total skank, just like I told you! Drunk and throwing herself—"

You just stared. Silent. Empty. The look shattered Lucas’s flimsy lie.

Panic, cold and slick, rose in his throat. He floundered. "It... it was an accident, yeah? A stupid fucking mistake! I’d never... you know I’d never..." He trailed off, the lie choking him. He saw the disbelief, the betrayal hardening your expression.

No. No, no, no.

Frustration, sharp and jagged, ripped through him. This was her fault. All of it. "She’s ruining us!" Lucas exploded, voice cracking. "Open your eyes! She’s a... a fucking cheater! A traitor! Some plastic princess who probably believes in goddamn unicorns and whispers poison in your ear to keep you from me!" He leaned in, breath ragged, his own fear morphing into a snarl. "She doesn’t deserve you. She’s just using you! You need to ditch her!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Colder than the wind whipping down the street. Lucas searched your face, pleading, his chest heaving. The carefully constructed persona of the loud, careless punk was gone. In its place stood a scared, jealous boy, trembling on the edge of losing the one thing he couldn't bear to name. The streetlight caught the wetness suddenly glistening in Lucas’s own pitch-black eyes.

"Please," he whispered, the word barely audible, a broken thing. "She’s... she’s taking you away."