Trigger Warning: Misogynistic language

Elliot's POV:

I'm not sure who brought the six-pack of IPAs, but I'm already halfway through my second, and the bottle is sweating in my hand like it's nervous to be here too.

Danny's apartment has the hollow echo of a space someone sleeps in rather than lives in. The furniture is expensive. There's a leather sectional and glass coffee table that probably costs more than my rent, but there's nothing personal on the walls. No photos, no art, just black space waiting. I get it. I've got the same problem in my apartment.

"That was never a foul! Are you fucking blind?" Michael shouts at the TV, where a FIFA match has been underway for the past forty minutes. He and Ethan are leaning forward on the couch like their bodies might physically influence the digital players' movements.

Danny sits on the end of the sectional and nurses a glass of whiskey and occasionally offers colorful commentary on their game. He seems comfortable here, but it also feels like he's house-sitting for his own life.

I shift in the IKEA armchair that feels out of space among Danny's lawyer-paycheck furniture. I pull out my phone. The Instagram app is new; the icon is still relegated to the "recently" downloaded section. I've never had social media. Jess used to tease me about being "A ninety-seven-year-old in a millennial body." But last night, three beers in, I'd found myself typing "Noelle Lanken" into the search bar.

Her info isn't private, which means I'm free to scroll through years of her life without the awkwardness of a follow request. It feels like cheating somehow, this one-sided window.

"Kane couldn't finish in an empty net," Christian, the guy who was late, says as he's sprawled on the floor with a beer balanced on his stomach. "Liverpool's entire strategy is to just give it to Salah and pray."

"That's fucking rich coming from a United fan," Michael retorts.

I tune them out as I scroll further down Noelle's timeline. Candid photos from rehearsal, selfies, vacation photos. It's normal stuff that feels strangely intimate because I recognize the person behind the photos now.

And then–a video thumbnail. It's from a black box theater, the lighting is warm against dark walls. In the center of the frame, is a younger Noelle. She's maybe nineteen here and stands in middle of the stage in a simple dress. Her posture is different. She stands open-shouldered and grounded. She's delivering a monologue I don't recognize, something about gardens and promises.

What strikes me isn't the performance itself, though it's good. It's the lightness in her. There's no armor, none of the careful distance I've seen in her this past week. She's...unafraid. Her hands move without self-consciousness, her face more animated than I've ever seen it in class. When she smiles at the end of the clip, it's full.

I swipe to the next image on the same post, from the same night. She's standing outside the theater with a guy's arm around her waist. He's about her height with long dark hair. They're both flushed with post-show adrenaline. The caption reads: "What an AMAZING opening night. Couldn't have done it without my rock ♥️"

My thumb hovers over his tagged name, but I stop myself. I already feel like I'm crossing a line. Instead, I scroll down to see if he appears in other posts.

He doesn't.

It's as if he's been scrubbed clean from her life. I flip back up to more recent posts. The last year and a half of photos have a different quality. She's more alone. The smiles are restrained. There's less of her in them, even when she's centered in the frame.

"Jesus, you got it bad," a voice says directly above me.

I startle and nearly drop my phone. Christian is standing over me and smirks. I didn't even hear him approach.

"What?" I ask, locking my screen a bit too late.

"You're creeping on Noelle's Insta. I get it though." He drops his voice and leans closer. "I'd like to bend her over a–"

Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.

"Watch it," I say, keeping my voice even. I lock my phone and slide it into my pocket.

Christian raises his hands in mock surrender. "What? Just appreciating the scenery."

I haven't been staring at her. At least, I don't think I have. But the fact that he's noticed me noticing her makes my skin prickle.

"We're in the same track," I say, acting like it explains everything.

"Lucky you." He says with a smirk. He turns the room and raises his voice for everyone to hear. "Who's excited to get laid tonight?"

The FIFA game continues, but the energy in the room shifts. Ethan and Michael exchange a glance I can't quite read.

Christian takes the silence as encouragement. "I've got a few targets tonight."

"Is this really–" I begin, but he's already rolling.

"I'm really thinking Harlowe. Those tits are insane, and you know she's wild."

Brad, or maybe it's Brian, snorts from his place on the floor. "Good fucking luck. She's out of your league."

"Or maybe one of her friends. Noelle and...Amelia, right?"

The way he says Noelle's name makes my teeth clench. It's like she's an item on the menu.

"You do know Amelia has a boyfriend, right?" I say the words before I can stop the.. "Pretty serious from what I've heard."

"How do you know that?" He asks with his eyebrows raised.

"I sit with them," I say. "She talks about him."

Christian scoffs. "It won't last a month. Actor relationships are like dog years...everything moves faster."

Danny glances at me with something dark in his expression.

"What about Noelle?" Christian pivots.

I take a long pull of my beer to avoid responding. The liquid is room temperature now, bitter against my tongue.

"She's fucking hot," Brad/Brian agrees. "But she seems like a lot of work."

"The uptight ones always are," Christian says. "But worth it when they finally let loose. I mean, can you imagine her–"

"Don't be fucking gross," I cut in, my voice quiet but firm. The room stills slightly.

Christian looks at me like I'm speaking in tongues. "It's just talk, man. Chill."

"It's practically tradition for half the first-years to hook up with each other," Brad/Brian adds.

"These are people we have to work with for two years." I say. The words come out more measured than I feel. "It's not a great look."

There's an awkward beat where no one seems to know what to do with my objection. I'm not usually the one to kill the vibe. I'm usually the guy who plays along rather than confronts.

"Look at Mr. Ethics Committee over here," Christian finally says, trying to laugh it off. "I forgot you were practically a fossil. What are you, thirty?"

"Twenty-eight," I correct. "Old enough to know better, apparently."

The edge in my voice surprises even me. A part of me wonders if I'd care as much if Noelle's name hadn't come up specifically. I'd like to think I would. I'd like to think I'm just being a decent human being. But the protective surge I felt when he started talking about her felt personal in a way I'm not ready to examine.

"We should get an Uber," I say, standing up. "Unless you're planning to be late to a party because you were talking about which classmates you could sexually harass."

"I wasn't–"

Danny cuts in. "Yeah, surge pricing's about to kick in anyway."

"I'll order it," Michael offers, already pulling out his phone, relief evident in his voice.

Christian looks annoyed at having his moment interrupted, but doesn't push it. "Guess you'll just hear about my success tomorrow."

The energy shifts as people gather jackets and finish drinks. I dump the rest of my warm beer in the sink and rinse the bottle. It's an old habit from living with Jess; she hated when I left empties around.

As the others filter out the front door, Danny, Michael, and Ethan hang back with me. There's a moment of award silence before Ethan speaks.

"Sorry about that," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have invited them."

I shrug, but it feels stiff. "Not your fault."

"Kind of is, though," Ethan admits as he looks down at his shows. "I heard Christian say some questionable shit yesterday and still invited him. Thought maybe he was just trying too hard to be funny."

Danny runs a hand through his hair. "He's on our track. Didn't realize he was such a dick."

"It's fine," I say, even though it isn't "We barely know these people. Still figuring out who's who."

"Well, now we know who's an asshole," Ethan mutters.

Michael checks his phone. "Uber's four minutes out." He slips it back into his pocket. "Maybe we can ditch them at the party."

"Definitely," Danny says.

"I should've said something sooner," Michael adds, his voice quiet. "I just-I didn't want to be the buzzkill."

"You weren't the only one," I say. "None of us jumped in right away."

"We'll be more selective with who comes to the pregame," Ethan says.

"So," Ethan says, clearly ready to move past the awkwardness. "You excited for the jungle juice?"

"Don't let this man near the jungle juice," Michael warns me. "He showed me a video of the last time he had jungle juice. He was singing ABBA on a coffee table."

"That was one time," Ethan protests. "And for the record, I killed 'Dancing Queen.'"

The Uber honks outside and we file out of the apartment. Christian and the others are already down their separate Uber. As we climb into the back of a Honda Civic that's seen better days, I find myself wedged between Danny and Michael.

"You guys ever feel like we're too old for this shit?" Danny asks as the car pulls out of the parking lot.

"Speak for yourself, Grandpa," Ethan says from the front seat.

I laugh but there;s something in Danny's question that resonates. Five months ago, I worked in a highrise office. Now, I'm headed to a party with people who will be mostly younger than me.

The driver turns up the radio to some top 40 hit I don't recognize. Ethan immediately starts to sing along, terribly off-key. Michael joins in, somehow even worse.

I don't know the words, but I find myself smiling, anyway.

The party house comes into view, light glows through every window, and the bass bumps through the walls. People spill out onto the front lawn, red cups in hand. Their laughter cuts through the night air. My stomach tightens with that familiar mix of anticipation and dread I've felt since orientation day.

Because I know she'll be in there. And I'm nowhere near ready to admit why this matters.