We lost eachother

The music hits you first. It’s loud enough to rattle the windows, bass thumping deep in your chest as you step inside. The house is already packed, people crammed shoulder to shoulder, laughter and shouts cutting through the music, the smell of beer and something fried clinging to the air.

You’ve never really liked scenes like this. Too many bodies, too much noise, too little space to breathe. But Sadie looks at home in it, slipping off her jacket and weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. She glances back at you once, giving you that familiar smirk, the one that says "don’t get lost, rookie" before leading the way toward the kitchen where the drinks are.

You trail behind, scanning the room. You recognize some faces from campus, people you’ve seen in lectures or passing by in the quad but most are strangers. Strangers who look a lot more comfortable in this chaos than you feel, by the time you catch up, Sadie already has a red plastic cup in her hand. She nudges one toward you. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

You take it, sniffing suspiciously. “This smells like it could kill me.”

“Probably will.” She grins, then leans back against the counter, eyes sweeping over the crowd. There’s a glint of excitement in her expression, something you don’t usually see in your late-night, pajama-wearing Sadie.

And then it happens. A guy steps up: tall, lean, that easy confidence you instantly recognize as the “party type.” He greets Sadie like they’ve known each other forever, flashing a grin that makes your stomach twist.

“Sadie, right? Didn’t expect to see you here” he says.

“Guess I was dragged out of my cave tonight” she replies easily, tipping her drink toward you before taking a sip.

You’re invisible in that moment. They slip into banter, laughing at some shared joke you don’t catch. Sadie’s shoulders relax in a way you haven’t seen in weeks. She’s… flirting. Maybe not intentionally, maybe just the way she naturally is when someone matches her energy. But it feels different. And it hits you harder than you want to admit, so you move.

You wander back into the living room, trying not to look like you’re escaping. Someone bumps your shoulder, and when you turn, you find yourself face-to-face with a girl you vaguely remember from class, a brunette with sharp eyeliner and a mischievous smile.

“Danny, right?” she asks, leaning in to be heard over the music.

You nod, surprised she even remembers your name. “Yeah. And you’re…?”

“Kayla.” She grins wider. “We had econ together last semester. You never talked much.”

“Well, I’m talking now, right?” you say, trying to master your charm, and she start laughing , it works! Or maybe she just likes the attention. Either way, conversation flows quickly, her laugh cutting through the noise, her hand brushing your arm just a little too often. You catch yourself leaning closer, matching her energy, letting the warmth of it push away the image of Sadie laughing with that other guy in the kitchen.

But you can’t help it, you keep glancing back. Through the press of bodies, you catch glimpses of her. She’s leaning against the counter, still talking to him, eyes lit up in a way that feels unfairly magnetic. The sight stirs something unsettled inside you.

Kayla notices your distraction. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just hot in here.”

She doesn’t press, just smiles like she knows better. And maybe she does.

Eventually, the crowd shifts, pulling you closer to the kitchen again. Sadie catches your eye across the room. For a split second, her smile falters, just a flicker but it’s enough. You realize she’s noticed you too. Not just standing there, but standing there with Kayla leaning close, laughing at something you said.

There’s no time to read it further. The moment’s gone, swallowed by the music and the crowd. She turns back to her conversation, and you **** yourself to do the same.

But the rest of the night, the awareness never leaves. Every laugh you hear from her direction, every brush of Kayla’s hand against your arm, every glance you catch when you think she’s not looking, it all piles up, twisting into something you don’t want to name.

For the first time in three years of living together, you’re not just her friend in the corner. You’re two people in the same room, orbiting around others, pretending not to notice when your paths cross. And it’s harder than you ever thought it would be.