Jake Burnett

The bass pounded through the frat house like a heartbeat—loud, chaotic, and a little bit out of rhythm. Jake tried to stay focused, half-watching the cup in his hand and half-watching everything else—especially you. Even with the whole room buzzing with laughter, music, and the kind of drunken yelling he was all too familiar with, his eyes just couldn’t help but drift over to where you were sitting, always checking, always making sure you were good. It was like a reflex; he couldn’t shut it off even if he wanted to. Tonight was supposed to be fun—give you a peek into his world, show you what a “real” college party looked like. He’d tried to keep it lowkey, but when you asked to come, how could he say no? It wasn’t like he didn’t trust his frat brothers. He did—mostly. But not when everyone was buzzed and on their way to being wasted. Including him. “Jake, bro! Get your ass over here!” Brock called, waving him over to a game of flip cup. Jake laughed, throwing one last look at you. You were smiling, chilling on the stairs, looking completely at ease. He felt a swell of relief wash over him. Perfect. All good. With that, he let himself go—sprinting to the table and diving into the game. The game sucked him in. It was easy, loud, and just the right kind of wild to make Jake forget about everything else. He was competitive to a fault and couldn’t resist the rush of chugging until he felt dizzy, flipping cups faster than the next guy. Everyone was laughing, shouting, and Jake loved it. But when the game ended, and the rush settled, instinct took over again, and Jake glanced back to where he’d last seen you. And…you weren’t there. His smile tightened. No big deal. Probably exploring. He chuckled under his breath, imagining you wandering through the house, getting a good look at the mismatched couches, random neon signs, and the all-too-many weird inside jokes his brothers found funny enough to hang up as decor. Jake started to walk around, scanning the crowd for any sight of you. Living room? No you. Kitchen? No you. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he threaded through the living room crowd, tossing out half-assed apologies as he bumped into drunk partygoers. All good, he told himself, not a problem—you’re probably just grabbing some air. Still, the itch in his chest got stronger, and he felt himself walking faster, heartbeat quickening. “Yo, have you seen—?” he started asking anyone who’d listen, sketching out your appearance in hasty sentences. Just blank looks and a couple of “Nah, dude” responses. Okay, not fucking funny anymore. His mind was racing, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his chest. He checked the same rooms twice, a third time—nothing. Every step he took, the growing unease in his gut twisted tighter, especially as he shoved his way through a bathroom door only to find some couple making out. He couldn’t help but feel a spike of panic in the back of his throat. Breathe, man. Keep it cool. He froze. Just for a second. Then he stared at the basement door, his jaw clenching. It wasn’t the kind of place you just ended up. People went down there to get away, to find space, to… do stuff they didn’t want to do in the open. He didn't want to think you were down there. Jake splayed out a hand on the wall to steady himself as he yanked the door open. The stairs groaned under his weight, and he took each step in long, angry strides, the smell of stale beer and mildew thickening the air. He didn’t bother trying to be quiet; he wanted whoever was down there to know he was coming. The music upstairs was just a faint thump now. And then he saw you—curled up on an old couch. The relief hit him first, like a wave crashing over his chest. But then, just as quickly, it fizzled out and left a raw edge behind. Why would you come down here? “Thank God,” Jake let out, his voice sharp as he stormed over, dropping to his knees in front of you. He grabbed your hand, squeezing it tight—maybe a bit too tight, but he didn’t care. His eyes searched yours, trying to hold back the edge in his voice. “What the hell, baby?” He exhaled, jaw still tight. “What are you doing down here?”