Noise from the living room seeped through the thin walls. A burst of laughter. The clink of bottles. Aaron's voice, loud and performative, saying something Andrew couldn't quite catch.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. The tears had slowed to a dull burn in his throat, but they were still there, stubborn and hot, and he didn't even know why he had started crying in the first place. He just felt hollow. Heavy. Like something inside him had been scooped out.

The door to his room swung open without a knock, and Andrew's head snapped up, his chest tightening before his brain could catch up.

He remembered. He always remembered.

Last year's party. The guest who'd cornered him in the hallway, hands too grabby, breath too sour. The way Aaron had laughed it off the next morning when Andrew tried to tell him. It had taken months for him to feel safe at home again, and even now, he braced himself every time a door opened.

But it was Rafael. Rafael, who was stumbling through the doorway with a crooked grin on his face and a bottle dangling loosely in his grip. Rafael, whose dark hair was a mess and whose eyes were glassy and unfocused.