The party had already peaked by the time Daniel arrived.
Music thumped through the walls of the Delta house, bass vibrating through the floorboards, laughter spilling into the lawn where people clustered in uneven circles. Daniel stood near the edge of it all, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the scene like an observer instead of a participant.
He recognized a few faces. Nodded to a couple of guys from his economics class. Someone handed him a cup; he took it out of politeness more than desire. The air smelled like cheap alcohol and perfume layered over sweat and spilled drinks.
This wasn't his world.
Across the room, Elliot Ashbourne was exactly where he always was, surrounded.
Girls leaned in close, laughing too loudly at jokes Daniel doubted were funny. Elliot's arm rested carelessly around one waist, then another. His confidence grew louder with every drink, his voice carrying over the music.
Lila saw him from across the room.
She waited. Watched. Told herself he'd look for her eventually.
He didn't.
By the third time she caught him whispering into someone else's ear, something in her chest tightened not sharply, but with a dull, familiar ache. She set her drink down untouched and slipped away from the crowd, climbing the narrow staircase toward the quieter rooms upstairs.
The noise faded behind her.
She closed herself into one of the spare bedrooms and sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear.
"I'm tired," she whispered to her sister. "I'm just... tired of being invisible when he decides I am."
She stared at the floor as she spoke, blinking back frustration. She didn't cry. She never cried in public spaces. But the sadness clung to her, heavy and unresolved.
Downstairs, Daniel drained half his drink and set it aside.
He checked his watch. He had an early shift in the morning, another job, another reminder that his life didn't pause for parties. He scanned the room, looking for Jaquan or Elliot.
Neither were they anywhere he could see.
With a quiet sigh, Daniel made his way upstairs, knocking lightly on doors as he passed, hoping to find someone to say goodbye to.
The third door creaked open.
Lila sat on the bed, phone still in her hand, her posture tense, shoulders drawn inward. She looked up, startled, then relieved.
"Oh," she said softly. "Daniel."
"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said quickly. "I was just—are you okay?"
She hesitated. Then nodded toward the room. "You can come in."
He closed the door behind him, careful, respectful. The space between them felt charged in a way neither had named before.
She told him everything, not dramatically, not angrily. Just honestly. About Elliot. About feeling like an accessory instead of a partner. About always being expected to understand.
Daniel listened. He always did.
"That sounds... lonely," he said quietly.
She laughed once, humorless. "It is."
They sat there, close but not touching, the noise of the party muffled beneath them.
After a while, Daniel stood. "I should go. I've got work in the morning."
She looked up at him then, eyes searching. "Could you stay a little longer?"
Just a moment. That's all it took.
He sat back down.
Their conversation slowed. Words gave way to silence — not awkward, but heavy. Lila leaned back against the bed. Daniel's shoulder brushed hers. Neither moved away.
She turned toward him.
"Do you ever wish," she asked quietly, "that things were simpler?"
He met her gaze. "All the time."
Her hand found his tentatively at first, like she was testing the truth of it. He froze, breath caught, every instinct telling him this was a line he shouldn't cross.
But he didn't pull away.
When she leaned in, the kiss was hesitant, unsteady lips brushing, retreating, returning with more certainty. The room seemed to narrow around them. Everything else — Elliot, expectations, and consequences fell quiet.
Daniel broke away first, breath uneven. "Lila... we shouldn't."
"I know," she said. "I just... needed something real."
She kissed him again, deeper this time, urgency layered with exhaustion and longing. His restraint slipped — not all at once, but gradually, like a door easing open after years locked shut.
They held onto each other as if the world might demand them back at any second.
When Daniel left hours later, sometime close to three in the morning, the house had gone quiet. He paused at the door, looking back at her one last time.
"I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure why.
She didn't say it back.
Lila woke alone.
Sunlight crept through the curtains, pale and unforgiving. For a moment, she panicked, but then remembered. The night replayed in fragments. The warmth. The honesty. The way she hadn't felt invisible.
She didn't regret it.
What she regretted was that it had to be a secret.
Downstairs, Elliot had already left hours earlier, with someone whose name Lila would never know.
That morning, she told Maren only part of the truth.
"It happened," she said quietly.
Marlene looked at her for a long moment. "And?"
"And now everything is complicated."
Maren nodded. "It always is before it breaks."
When she visited home that weekend, she told her sister everything except his name.
"I like him," she whispered. "But it could never work."
Her sister said nothing.
Sometimes silence is agreement. Sometimes it's a warning. They ran into each other outside the library. It wasn't dramatic. No music cue. No slow realization. Just two people rounding a corner at the same time and stopping too late.
"Hey," Daniel said first.
Lila hesitated, then nodded. "Hey."
The space between them felt heavier than it should have been. Students passed by in clusters, laughter and conversation flowing around them like water around a stone.
"I—I'm sorry I left so early," Daniel said. "I didn't want to wake you. And I had work."
"It's fine," she replied quickly. Too quickly. "Really."
Silence crept in, uncomfortable and sharp at the edges.
"You're my friend's girlfriend," Daniel added quietly. "I shouldn't have—"
She cut in, her voice firmer than she intended. "Elliot doesn't see people as friends. He sees them as conveniences."
Daniel stiffened.
"He uses you," she continued, unable to stop now. "You do everything for him. His assignments, his exams, his deadlines. He keeps you close because you're useful, not because he cares."
Daniel exhaled slowly. "Maybe. But that doesn't make it right."
She looked at him then—really looked. "You deserve better."
"So do you," he said.
That was the problem.
"I take responsibility," Daniel continued. "All of it. What happened wasn't just on you. But... we can't let it happen again."
Her jaw tightened.
"For my own safety," he said gently. "And yours. You know how Elliot is. I don't want trouble. I can't afford it."
She nodded, though the motion seemed to cost her something. "Okay."
"And we can't tell anyone."
She hesitated. Just a fraction of a second.
"Okay," she repeated.
Jaquan's voice cut through the moment.
"Yo."
Daniel flinched as Jaquan clapped a hand against his back, smiling like he hadn't just interrupted something fragile.
"What's up?" Jaquan asked, eyes flicking between them. "What are we talking about?"
Daniel answered too quickly. "Camping."
Jaquan grinned. "Man, you're still worried about that? Relax. It's gonna be fun. Have you ever even been camping before?"
Daniel forced a smile.
"Exactly," Jaquan said. "Best time ever. Holidays. No stress. Just vibes."
Lila said nothing.
Jaquan draped an arm around Daniel's shoulders and steered him away. "Come on, bro. Let's bounce."
Daniel glanced back once.
Lila was already walking in the opposite direction.