Party Lights, Rival Eyes

The dorm was a crypt when Elliot sat on his bed that Friday evening, flipping through a textbook he wasn't reading, the faint thrum of campus nightlife leaking through the window. Bryce had bolted hours ago—showered, loud, and gone—muttering about plans, and Elliot hadn't dug for details. He didn't want to know, didn't want that bitter pang from Rusty's creeping back. He's with her, he thought, shoving it down, fingers tracing the book's spine. Doesn't matter.

A sharp knock shattered the quiet. Lila stood in the doorway, purple-streaked hair wild, grinning wide. "Eli, you're not seriously staying in on a Friday, right?" she said, leaning against the frame. "There's a party tonight—some girl's birthday thing. Half the campus is going. Come with me. You'll be alone otherwise."

Elliot blinked, thrown by the nickname. "Eli?" he echoed, voice soft, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

"Yeah, it's you," Lila said, shrugging. "Elliot's too stiff. C'mon, Eli, grab your hoodie. You need air." Her tone was light, insistent, and he didn't have the will to fight. He pulled on his faded hoodie, trailing her out, the name "Eli" settling in his chest—small, strange, but not bad.

The party was a wall of chaos when they arrived—blaring music, shouting voices, the clatter of bottles ricocheting off chipped walls. Red cups littered the floor, and the air stank of beer and cheap cologne. Elliot stuck close to Lila, head down, ocean-blue eyes scanning the crowd warily. She shoved a soda into his hands—"Figured you don't drink, Eli"—and he nodded, clutching it like a lifeline, grateful for the cold metal against his palms.

Lila wove them through the mess, dodging a guy spilling beer, her chatter a steady hum. "It's Tara's deal—junior, social queen," she said, sidestepping a swaying couple. "Open invite, total zoo. You'll see." Elliot didn't know Tara, didn't link her to Bryce's vague "plans," and that kept him steady, blissfully unaware.

They found a perch near the kitchen, Lila leaning against the counter, sipping something neon green. "Relax, Eli," she teased, nudging him. "You look like you're gonna run." He managed a shy smile, soda can denting under his grip, eyes darting around. The crowd was a blur—laughter, slurring voices, a girl tripping over a chair—and he shrank into his hoodie, wishing he'd stayed in.

Across the apartment, Bryce sprawled on a couch, beer in hand, Tara perched beside him, her blonde hair glinting in the dim light. She'd nabbed him after practice—bubbly, relentless—and he'd come, figuring it'd be a laugh. His green eyes roamed the room, restless, but the sea of bodies hid Elliot from sight. Tara leaned closer, giggling about some prank, and he grinned, warm and easy. "You're wild, Tara," he said, voice rough but friendly, taking a swig.

Elliot didn't see him, didn't know Bryce was here, and that kept his guard low. Lila dragged him toward a group forming in the living room—"Game time, Eli, let's go!"—and he followed, reluctant but snared. The crowd shuffled into a loose circle on the floor, voices loud and slurred, and Lila plopped down, pulling him beside her. "Truth or Dare," she whispered, grinning. "It's dumb, but it's a riot."

Elliot's stomach twisted, but he stayed, soda can cold against his hands. The game kicked off—someone dared a guy to shotgun a beer, a girl confessed to stealing a prof's pen, laughter erupting in waves. Then a new voice sliced through—smooth, edged with a smirk. "My turn," it said, and Elliot glanced up, ocean-blue eyes landing on Jace Carter.

Jace sat across the circle, tall and lean, dark hair mussed, hazel eyes glinting. Westfield's quarterback—Bryce's rival, the guy who'd torched Bryce's team with a last-second touchdown last season. He was here with cross-campus friends, a red cup in hand, grinning like he owned the chaos. Elliot didn't know him, didn't catch the rivalry, but Jace's gaze swept the circle—and paused on him, sharp and curious.

Jace pointed at Bryce, who'd been lounging beside Tara, oblivious to Elliot's presence. "Callahan," Jace said, voice loud, teasing. "Truth or dare, big shot?"

Elliot's head snapped up at the name, ocean-blue eyes widening as they found Bryce, just across the circle. He's here? he thought, heart thudding, the shock slamming into him. Bryce hadn't seen him yet, green eyes locked on Jace, and Elliot ducked his head fast, dark hair falling into his face. He didn't say it was this party, he scolded himself, panic prickling. Stay quiet.

"Dare," Bryce said, voice rough and playful, leaning back with a grin. "Go for it, Carter."

Jace's grin sharpened, hazel eyes glinting. "Kiss Tara," he said, loud and clear, the crowd whooping at the challenge. Tara giggled, tilting her face up, expectant, and Bryce's smirk faltered, a flicker of reluctance crossing his face. He hesitated—just a heartbeat, green eyes darting aside—then shrugged, letting her lean in. Her lips pressed against his, quick but firm, her hand brushing his jaw as the room cheered. Bryce didn't pull away, but he didn't lean into it either, his grin tight when she broke off.

Elliot's chest seized, ocean-blue eyes locked on them, that ache roaring back, hot and jagged. He let her, he thought, jaw clenching, the sight searing into him—Bryce's reluctance, Tara's ease, the crowd's noise. He's hers. He shoved it down deep, fingers denting the soda can, but it hurt, sharp and uninvited, a quiet wound he couldn't shake.

Bryce wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing it off. "There ya go, Carter," he said, voice gruff but warm, clapping Tara's shoulder. Then his green eyes swept the circle—instinct, maybe—and landed on Elliot, hunched beside Lila, those ocean-blue eyes wide and glassy. "Elliot?" he said, voice cutting through the din, rough but bright. "Holy shit, man, didn't know you were here!"

Elliot flushed, shrinking into his hoodie. "Lila… dragged me," he mumbled, barely audible, eyes dropping to the can. He's good with me, he thought, thrown by Bryce's tone—no edge, just surprise and warmth—and it clashed with the ache still burning.

Lila grinned, oblivious. "Yeah, Eli's my wingman tonight. Couldn't let him rot in the dorm." She nudged him, and Bryce's brow twitched at the nickname.

"Eli, huh?" Bryce said, leaning forward, green eyes glinting. "That's cool. Good to see you out, man. Beats staring at walls." His tone was light, friendly, and Elliot nodded, shy and silent, the ache softening under Bryce's easy smile but not gone.

The game rolled on, Jace daring someone to jump off a table, the room erupting in chaos. Bryce stood after his turn, stretching. "I'm out for a sec," he said, clapping Tara's arm. "Grabbing a beer." She pouted, but he slipped away, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen, leaving Elliot's gaze trailing him, then snapping back fast.

Elliot stayed in the circle, Lila chattering beside him, but his mind churned—Bryce's warmth, Tara's kiss, the party he hadn't expected. He didn't want to, he thought, clinging to Bryce's reluctance, but the ache lingered, stubborn and raw.

In the kitchen, Bryce fished a beer from a cooler, the party noise a dull roar behind him. He cracked it open, taking a long sip, leaning against the counter to breathe. The dare had been quick, Tara's move, and he'd let it slide—Carter's jab, not his choice. His green eyes drifted, restless, when a figure cut through the crowd—Jace, sauntering out of the living room, red cup in hand.

Jace didn't stop, didn't speak, just nodded at Bryce with that smug grin and kept moving, slipping toward the back of the apartment. Bryce snorted, shaking his head—Asshole—and took another swig, the rivalry a low simmer he didn't bother stoking tonight.

Back in the living room, the game hit a lull—someone dared a guy to run outside shirtless, and the crowd scattered, laughing. Elliot slipped out of the circle, finding a wall to lean against, soda half-gone. Lila was off refilling her drink, leaving him alone, watching the chaos. Tara's kiss replayed in his head, Bryce's reluctance a thin shield against the ache, quiet and heavy.

Jace appeared then, weaving through the crowd, stopping beside him. "Hey," he said, voice smooth, leaning close. "You're the soda guy from the game, right? Not drinking?"

Elliot stiffened, ocean-blue eyes flicking up—wary, guarded—then down. "Yeah," he murmured. "Just… soda."

Jace nodded, grinning, hazel eyes tracing him—sharp jaw, dark hair, those ocean-blue depths. "Smart. I'm Jace. Westfield. You don't fit this mess, huh?"

"Not really," Elliot said, voice thin, shifting under Jace's gaze. He's staring, he thought, heart thudding. Why?

"Fair," Jace said, leaning closer. "You've got a look, though—those eyes. Blue eyes. Bet they catch lights." His tone was bold, flirty, and Elliot flushed, shrinking into his hoodie, unsure how to dodge it. Jace didn't push, just smirked, piecing it together—quiet, pretty, Bryce's orbit. Roommate, maybe, he thought, interest sparking. He'd find out more on his own.

Lila bounced back, drink in hand. "Eli! There you are. This guy bugging you?" She eyed Jace, half-teasing, half-protective.

"Nah," Jace said, smirking. "Just chatting. Catch you later." He winked, slipping away, and Elliot exhaled, rattled but silent.

Bryce drifted back toward the living room, beer in hand, catching the tail end—Jace leaning in, Elliot flushing—and his green eyes narrowed, a jolt of jealousy twisting sharp. Carter's on him? he thought, jaw clenching. He didn't get why it hit so hard, but it did.

The party dragged on, music pounding, voices slurring. Elliot stuck with Lila, dodging Jace's occasional glances, while Bryce kept his distance from Tara, polite but detached, green eyes flicking to Elliot across the room. When it finally thinned, Elliot slipped out with Lila, her arm looped through his, calling him "Eli" again as they hit the cool night air. Bryce caught it from the edge of the crowd, alone now, Tara off with her friends, and that jolt lingered—sharp, quiet, tied to those ocean-blue eyes—long after they were gone.