My body gradually relaxes as I follow his lead, my fingers curling around the sand, its grittiness oddly comforting against my skin. I wonder where he learned this technique, how he knew exactly what to do when I was spiraling.

"Get her some water and meet me at the car," he tells Jake and Ollie. Turning back to me, he asks, "Can you walk?"

I want to say yes, but my legs feel like water. "I... I think⁠⁠—"

He lifts me into his arms effortlessly. My head spins from the combination of anxiety and his familiar scent as I rest against his neck, arms circling him.

"I can... I can walk," I protest weakly.

"Nora," his eyes meet mine, a ghost of a smile in his voice, "shut up and let me help you."

So I do, letting him carry me to the car through the neighbor's yard, avoiding the chaos of the party. His arms hold me securely, the scent of spearmint and whiskey more intoxicating than any drink. When he sets me down by the car, the silence between us fills with unspoken words.

"You weren't drinking?" Confusion and concern color his voice.

"I hardly finished the one I had." The memory of that night last year right before dad died stops me cold. "I just want to go home."

His expression tightens.

"Why did you—?" I begin, but I already know he won't answer fully.

"Because he deserved it," he says shortly, jaw set in that familiar, protective line.

It's not the whole truth, but with Nate, it rarely is. His guarded nature serves as both shield and fortress—keeping everyone at arm's length while somehow remaining close to me. Despite our distance, despite the changes, he still sees me as something to protect rather than an equal.

His dark eyes pull me in like gravity, making my heart race. He's different now, but what draws me to him—what both repels and attracts—remains as powerful as ever.

"Thank you," I mutter, barely above a whisper.

Nate opens his mouth to respond, but Jake interrupts with my water. "It was impossible to find a bottle of water in that place."

"Thanks," I manage, steadying my voice. To Nate, I just smile a half-heartedly.

Something in his gaze softens momentarily before vanishing. He opens the car door, his movements careful. "Get some rest," he murmurs as I slide into the seat.

He steps back, lighting a cigarette. The flame briefly illuminates the tension in his features before he exhales slowly, smoke curling around him.

"Drink more water. And Jake, make sure she takes an aspirin before bed," he adds roughly, then walks away.

I watch his retreating form, marked by the cigarette's glow until he disappears. In that moment, despite everything, I see him clearly. Nate might hide behind indifference, might play the detached protector, but his actions reveal deeper truths he won't—or can't—acknowledge.