The music pounded through the basement, lights strobing in shades of violet and blue. It was supposed to be a night of release — a night to forget the dust of exams and the weight of what came next. But for Evan, the laughter had turned sharp somewhere along the way.
He leaned against the wall, barefoot, the air cool against his skin. His shirt was gone, misplaced in the chaos of dares and half-serious games. People were still laughing — not cruelly, not kindly either. The sound blurred together, a wave of noise that filled his chest with something he couldn’t quite name.
“Man, you okay?” someone called out. It was Jonas, the host, holding a cup that had long since lost its fizz. His expression wasn’t mocking, just concerned — like he couldn’t tell if the joke had gone too far.
Evan nodded quickly, his throat tight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… cold.”
But inside, he wasn’t sure if it was the chill or the sting of being seen — not for who he was, but as part of the night’s amusement.
He remembered laughing too, earlier — when someone tripped over the speaker cord, when drinks spilled, when the lights flickered out and came back brighter. It had all felt harmless until it wasn’t.
The crowd’s laughter faded as Jonas stepped closer. “Hey, come on, man. Let’s get you your stuff back.”
Evan managed a weak smile. He wanted to believe that was all it took — a hand on the shoulder, a few kind words to pull him back into the warmth of the room. But even as he nodded, part of him stayed frozen at the wall, caught in that space between pride and vulnerability.
He realized then that sometimes, laughter had edges — soft enough to hide the cut until it was too late.
