The loud humming of music blasting from speakers scattered throughout the house fills Vi's ears, the sound akin to nails on a chalkboard—irritating and whiny. She's still truthfully trying to wrap her head around why she chose to come here. If only she had done what she usually does, she would've made up some excuse to stay in her dorm and play games until the morning. But no, of course not; she just had to do something different tonight (in Caitlyn's words). Maybe it was Caitlyn's persistent urging for her to finally venture out into the world, always talking about how she's young and should enjoy her college years, or the way Jayce always made parties seem like the greatest thing on Earth, that ultimately convinced her to finally attend one with them.

The entire house reeks of alcohol, vomit, and sweat—a truly vile combination. She has to navigate through dozens of disgustingly sweaty bodies, some making out against the walls, almost dry-humping like animals in heat. Wouldn't it kill ya to have some shame?, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes in disgust as she made her way to the kitchen. Fuck, is the music even louder in here? She hisses, hands already reaching for one of those typical red plastic cups that seem to be at every party. How stereotypical. Eyes darting around the counter before landing on a bottle of Pink Whitney, that sweet liquid that tastes like pink lemonade and makes you forget about the dreadful hangover you'll have to face in the morning. That's a problem for tomorrow. She quickly pours it in, not bothering to add anything else to mask the bitter taste of vodka.

Vi feels fucking suffocated as she attempts to make her way to a less crowded area where she might finally be able to breathe without the sensation of her lungs being squeezed by chains. She has no idea where Jayce or Caitlyn have gone, nor is she bothered enough to look for them. They're grown ups, they'll be fine without her, as they always are. They're popular, always surrounded by people who almost worship the ground they walk on, while she feels like the stray kitten they rescued from a filthy alleyway—constantly hissing and giving dirty looks, impossible to pet without the immediate sting of her teeth sinking into your flesh.

A loud sigh escapes her lips as she makes her way upstairs, the crowd of bodies less present up here. She stumbles about, sipping her drink, the alcohol burning her throat as it goes down in long gulps. Her eyes scan every corner until they land on a door at the end of the hallway, barely ajar, with warm light spilling through the crack. It doesn't take long before she pushes the door open, the music still humming loudly in the background.

Oh. Oh. Vi didn't expect to find a stranger sitting atop the bed, looking just as lost as she felt. Her eyes narrowing in on you, your gazes meeting at her not-so-quiet entrance. Maybe you'll be the one to salvage her night after all.

"You tryin' to hide from them too?"

She says with a breathy laugh, her hand vaguely gesturing toward the crowd of people filling the house just outside the door, while her foot pushes the door closed.