The room was dim when Marcus walked in, a gym bag slung over his shoulder and sweat clinging to his collar. He paused at the door, brow furrowed.
Jeremy sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped, hoodie pulled over his head like a shield. The silence was heavy.
"If it isn't Mr. Casanova himself." Marcus said playfully.
Jeremey responded with dry laughter, one void of all emotion, a place filler, a response to not sound rude.
"You good?" Marcus asked, setting the bag down with a soft thud.
Jeremy didn't respond at first.
"She didn't show."
Marcus raised his eyebrows. "Ava?"
Jeremy gave a short nod, jaw clenched. "Well, she did, but it felt like she wasn't there. Came in an hour after we were supposed to meet and didn't even give a reason why."
Marcus blew out a slow breath. "Damn, man. That sucks."
Jeremy shrugged like it didn't matter, but the quiet in his eyes betrayed him.
After a pause, Marcus perked up. "Alright. That's it. We're going out."
Jeremy looked up. "Out?"
"Yeah. The football team's throwing a party over at the Ridge. Kofi's playing host, and I've got an invite. Perks of being a track guy."
"I'm not really in the mood."
"Exactly why you should go. Get your mind off things. C'mon, man—music, vibes, distraction. I'll even make sure you get the good punch."
Jeremy hesitated.
Marcus tossed him a clean black hoodie. "Put that on. We're leaving in ten."
The Ridge House buzzed with music that throbbed through the walls. Neon lights flickered across drunk students and forgotten furniture. The scent of cheap body spray, sweat, and popcorn made the air thick.
Jeremy followed Marcus inside, sticking close to the edges of the room. He gripped a red plastic cup filled with non-alcoholic punch that tasted like melted gummy bears. Definitely not his scene.
He lingered near the stairwell, watching bodies twist and tangle on the dance floor. His mind was still tangled in the memory of Ava's absence, her text message that felt more like a shrug than an apology.
"Hey," a soft voice said beside him.
He turned.
She was blonde, with sharp blue eyes and a calm confidence. Wore a denim jacket over a tank top and sipped from her own cup like she didn't care much for it.
"I'm Becca," she said. "Literature major. Sophomore. And I hate these things."
Jeremy managed a half-smile. "Then why are you here?"
"My roommate said I needed to 'reconnect with the human race.'" Becca rolled her eyes. "Looks like you're not exactly vibing either."
"Not really." Jeremy responded. A silence lingered too long between them, filled with the sound of electro funk the DJ seemed to enjoy a tad too much. Then finally, she asked,
"So what's your major?"
"Computer Science." Jeremy responded. He was quite surprised she was still there. He did not expect to have any conversations tonight, but this babe just won't budge.
"So, tell me about it. What exactly do you guys do? Build computers and shii?"
Jeremy laughed a little.
"Well, not exactly. The people who build computers like the physical architecture and stuff. Those are the computer engineers. They deal with the hardware. You know, stuff you can feel and touch. We, on the other hand … we deal with the software. Your apps, your websites. You know when you click a link on someone's Instagram profile? We are the reason the link actually works."
"That's actually kinda cool. I have always seen computer guys as boring techies coding all day, but when you put it like that, it actually makes so much sense.
"Why, thank you." Jeremy said with a mock cutesy.
They settled into conversation. Becca talked about an upcoming paper on Sylvia Plath and gendered trauma in literature. She waved her cup around as she spoke, punctuating her sentences with sips from it.
Jeremy found himself opening up—talking about coding, interface design, user psychology, and the app he was working on.
He lit up.
"You're kind of brilliant," Becca said, watching him. "But you need to loosen up."
Jeremy laughed nervously.
"Come with me. I want to show you something."
Upstairs, the noise dulled into a rhythmic bassline beneath their feet. Becca pushed open the door to a spare bedroom and tugged Jeremy inside.
He didn't resist.
She pinned him to the wall and kissed him—soft at first, then bold. Her hand slithered down his shirt to his thighs. She felt his crotch bulging in response to her touch. She rubbed her fingers over it, all while kissing him and grabbing his hair. With one quick movement, her hand found its way into his jeans.
Before he could register what was happening, her fingers curled around his dick, and she slid them back and forth slowly, eyes locked on his.
It was sudden. It was thrilling. It was wrong, but did he stop her? No. No, he did not.
Her pupils had the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen in a human's eyes. They kind of looked like the blue of the ocean, the shade of the sea, and in a way, they had the same vastness. It was easy to get lost in them just as he had done. Just as he was doing now.
He tensed, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. He could feel his body throbbing within the palm of this lit major he met fifteen minutes ago. It felt unreal.
She stroked him faster, grabbing his neck as she did.
"Come for me. Come for me, damn it." She whispered, ever so softly.
He could feel it, the liquid travelling from his sac up the tube. He was close; he was very close
And then—
The door burst open.
Three frat guys stumbled in, phones already pointed at them and recording.
"I told you she was a pro!" one of them laughed.
Jeremy froze, fumbling to pull his pants up. Becca stepped back, triumphant.
"Never mess with Becca the Ball Buster," she shouted, lifting both arms like she'd just won a prizefight.
She snapped her fingers, flicking the remnants of his shame into the air like glitter, laughing as the phones kept rolling.
Jeremy felt sick.
He shoved past them, storming out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Marcus followed, calling after him.
"Jeremy! Yo—what the hell happened?"
But Jeremy didn't stop. His ears rang. His stomach twisted. He just wanted to disappear.