A Room Rewritten in Lights

I quickly finished the rest of the food, stuffed the empty box back into the bag, and headed downstairs. Marching into the kitchen, I tossed the box into the trash and made a beeline for Elias, who was sitting casually on the couch with a glass of water, scrolling on his phone.

“Elias,” I said firmly, planting my hands on my hips.

He glanced up, his brows lifting slightly. “Yes?”

“I want to go with you.”

His lips twitched as though suppressing a laugh. “Oh?”

“And no,” I continued before he could say anything else, “it’s not because of pity or because I feel burdened or whatever other reason you’re overthinking in that big head of yours. I want to go because—” I hesitated for a split second, then pushed forward, “—it’ll be my first time at a fancy party, and I want to see how the rich do it.”

That did it. He laughed, a full, warm sound that echoed in the room.