✭ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ✭

Rain

Y/N'S POV

The rooftop pulsed with low bass and golden lights strung above like artificial stars.

Champagne flutes clinked. Laughter echoed across velvet couches and polished floors. People buzzed around us stylists, influencers, producers all looking to rub shoulders and snap the perfect candid.

But I felt disconnected, like I was floating through it all.

I stuck close to Bill and Tom as we entered. Cameras flashed, and someone shoved a drink into my hand before I could say no. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the whispers that followed us.

"There she is—Playboy girl herself."

"Isn't that the Kaulitz twins with her?"

"She looks even better in person..."

I smiled tightly, brushing past them.

Tom looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, avoiding his gaze. "Just tired."

We reached a quiet corner of the party with a small couch and a view of the city below.

Bill got pulled into a conversation with someone from a label, leaving just me and Tom.

He leaned back against the railing, sipping his drink. "You handled that interview like a pro."

I laughed lightly. "If by pro, you mean 'barely survived,' then yeah."

He looked at me, serious now. "You didn't deserve that comment from Jimmy."

I shrugged, sipping my drink. "I've heard worse."

"You shouldn't have to get used to it," he said, stepping a little closer. "Especially not with people like him."

For a moment, we just stood there quiet, the music far away. I felt his eyes on me again, the same way he used to look when we were younger and alone and didn't know what it meant.

Before either of us could say more, a girl came over tall, model-type, blonde laughing as she pulled Tom away. "Come on, you promised me a dance!"

He hesitated, glancing back at me.

"It's okay," I said quickly, stepping away. "Go."

He followed her.

And I stood there, drink in hand, trying not to look like my chest was caving in.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

I passed the bar on my way out, ignoring the crowd pressing in. My hand reached for the nearest bottle something dark, expensive-looking.

I didn't even check the label. I just tucked it against my side like it belonged to me and walked back through the hall.

No one stopped me. No one cared.

I opened a side door, wandered past a line of restrooms, and found a hallway with a few closed-off rooms, likely for "VIPs," which basically meant rich people sneaking away to do rich people things. I opened the first unlocked one I could find.

It was small. Dim. A velvet chaise in the middle, a floor lamp glowing low in the corner, the walls lined with moody abstract art no one really understood.

I shut the door behind me and locked it.

The bottle hit the table with a dull thud.

I sat on the floor, legs crossed, and twisted the cap off. No glass. No ceremony. Just a long sip straight from the bottle that burned all the way down.