Tied to You

The bass from downstairs vibrated through the walls, the relentless pounding of whatever EDM disaster my roommate—Jace—had chosen for tonight's house party drilling into my skull. It was a Thursday, which meant I had to be up for work in less than six hours, and he had once again invited over half the city like we were in a frat house instead of a mortgage-crippled nightmare. My stomach clenched, a dull ache spreading through my middle—a painful reminder that I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

I ignored it, even as my body protested. Hunger was easier to deal with than the alternative. Going downstairs meant stepping into Jace's world—a world that had slowly overtaken what was supposed to be my home. A world where I had learned to stay quiet, to keep my head down, to let things happen rather than fight against an already losing battle. Jace wasn't a bad person, not really. He had helped me when I needed it, had moved in when I couldn't afford this place on my own. But over time, the house had become his, the parties his domain, the endless parade of strangers something I had grown too tired to argue against. I didn't push back anymore because what would be the point?

Besides, I knew what happened when I did. The first few times I'd tried to say no, to set boundaries, it had ended the same way—drunken laughter, careless shrugs, and Jace telling me to 'relax' like I was the problem. The one time I'd tried to shut a party down, I had been drowned out by the sound of music cranked up even louder, my own voice swallowed by the sheer force of the crowd that didn't care. After that, it had been easier to let it happen, to accept that my control over this house was nothing more than an illusion.

And maybe, deep down, I knew I needed Jace. His rent kept the bills paid, kept the house from swallowing me whole. I told myself that was why I let it go, why I tolerated it. Because it was practical. Because I had to. Not because part of me had stopped believing I could change it.

So I stayed upstairs, pretending I didn't hear the chaos below. Pretending I had a choice.

I adjusted my headphones, but they did little to block out the laughter, the clinking of bottles, the occasional crash of something breaking. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and I wrapped an arm around my waist as if that would help. I had been holed up in my room for hours, stubbornly refusing to weave through the chaos just to grab something to eat. But the hunger was starting to gnaw at me, an uncomfortable twisting that made ignoring it impossible.

Typical.

"Fuck this."

I swung my legs off the bed, pulling on a hoodie over my tank top and slipping into socks. No way was I stepping on the sticky remnants of spilled beer from last weekend's party. I had no idea how people could tolerate this level of chaos, but I wasn't about to starve in my own home just because Jace refused to act like an adult.

Slipping out of my room, I kept my head down, moving quickly toward the kitchen. Maybe I could make it in and out before anyone noticed.

No such luck.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you outside your cave."

I stiffened mid-step, my fingers curling around the edge of the doorway. His voice was deep, rough-edged, carrying through the din of the party like he didn't need to raise it to be heard.

I looked up. And—him. Standing too still in the middle of the chaos. Watching.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly composed in the middle of the chaos. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run his fingers through it absentmindedly, but everything else about him was controlled—his posture, the way he held his drink, the sharp focus in his dark eyes. He wasn't just watching. He was assessing.

I didn't know his name. He was just... always here. Always watching. Never drinking. Never lost in the chaos, just... apart from it. Calculated. He wasn't like Jace's other friends—loud, obnoxious, high off whatever substance was floating around tonight.