Zeke

The bass from the speakers thrummed through the floor as Zeke leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look indifferent. The air smelled of cheap beer and sweat, and you were far too drunk to notice his discomfort. Without saying a word, he slung your arm over his shoulders, steadying you as he guided you out of the noisy crowd. Helping you into his car, his hands lingered carefully, his voice barely above a whisper: 'You gonna make it in the dorms, or do you want to come to my apartment?'