It had been a few days since the girls' night, and I found myself at yet another party. This one wasn't as big or as well-known as the others, but it still had that same buzzing energy. A guy from town had invited everyone over, and even though I didn't really know him that well, it seemed like the kind of night where anything could happen. There was music playing too loudly, drinks spilling, and people mingling, but somehow, it felt different tonight. The air felt heavier, like something was about to shift.

I spotted Lily not far off, laughing with a few friends, and Noah was nearby too, although I barely saw him in the crowd. He was quieter than usual, lost in the noise, but that was Noah for you—always a bit on the outside, even in the middle of everything.

The night was already in full swing when I noticed Noah stumbling a little as he moved through the crowd. At first, I thought nothing of it. People had been drinking since the moment we arrived, but Noah was always so composed. He wasn't like the others, the ones who drank until they couldn't stand straight, and yet, here he was, unsteady on his feet, his face flushed and eyes clouded. I hesitated for a second, but then I saw him stumble again, almost crashing into a table, and I rushed over to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, my voice full of concern, trying to catch him as he swayed.

Noah didn't look well. His breath smelled like alcohol, and he could barely focus on me as I steadied him.

"I'm fine," he slurred, attempting a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... I'm good, really."

But I knew better. He was anything but fine. His skin was pale, his movements slow and uncoordinated. I took his arm, leading him towards a quieter spot in the house, trying to avoid the curious eyes of the others.

"Come on," I said gently. "Let's get you some water, okay?"

I helped him sit on a couch, and for a moment, he just sat there, breathing deeply, as if trying to fight the overwhelming nausea. I fetched some water, and he drank it quickly, his hand trembling slightly as he held the cup.

"You need to sit down for a bit," I suggested. "You've had way too much."

Noah just nodded, but I could see the discomfort in his eyes. It was like he was somewhere else, lost in his thoughts.

When he finally looked up at me, his expression had shifted, his features softer, more vulnerable.

"I can't go back home, Em," he said, his voice quieter now, almost broken. "Not like this."

I frowned, my concern deepening. "What do you mean? You don't want to go back to your place?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "My dad... He doesn't like it when I'm like this. He doesn't understand. He..." His voice trailed off for a second before he continued, almost whispering, "He doesn't want me to drink. It's because of my mom. She... she died because of it. She was an alcoholic. And he... he can't handle seeing me like this."

My heart sank, and I found myself sitting down beside him, closer than I had intended. I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on us, thick in the air. Noah, always so tough, so composed, was falling apart in front of me.

I didn't know what to say. It felt like everything had suddenly shifted, like this moment was more than just a drunken mishap. There was pain in his eyes, something deeper than I had ever seen before.

"Noah..." I whispered, unsure of how to comfort him.

He let out a sigh, his eyes distant. "I don't even want to drink, Em. But sometimes... when I think about her, I just... I don't know how to stop. It's like the only way I can forget about her, forget about everything, is by drinking." His voice cracked slightly, and he looked away from me, staring at the floor as if the words themselves were too much to bear. "I don't want to be like her, but sometimes, I feel like I'm just repeating it."

I didn't know what to say, so I just reached out and put my hand on his arm, offering him a silent kind of comfort. It felt strange—how close we were in that moment, how much of him he had just given me to hold.

"You don't have to do this alone," I said softly, squeezing his arm. "I'm here for you."

He looked up at me, his eyes softening for a moment, and then he gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. It wasn't a happy one, but it was there.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Em."

The words hit me harder than I expected, and I found myself leaning in a little closer. The warmth of his body next to mine was comforting in a way I couldn't quite explain.

I stayed with him for a while longer, until his breathing had steadied, and he wasn't quite as dizzy. It wasn't the kind of night I had planned—fun, carefree, and filled with laughter. But it was a night I wouldn't forget, and somehow, I felt closer to Noah than ever before.

Eventually, Noah was ready to leave. He tried to stand, swaying a little on his feet, but I was there to catch him. "Let me help you," I insisted.

We made our way to the door, and after a quick word with the host—who had somehow disappeared into the chaos—I led Noah out to my car. He didn't argue when I told him he could stay at my place for the night. I could see how exhausted he was, both physically and emotionally, and he didn't protest.

When we got to my house, I quickly ushered him upstairs to my room. My parents were already in bed, unaware of Noah's presence. He was still unsteady, but I helped him to my bed, where he collapsed onto it, clearly relieved to lie down.

I quickly grabbed one of my dad's old shirts from the drawer and handed it to him. "Here," I said, "You can wear this."

He didn't say anything but nodded gratefully as he changed, still looking a little disoriented. I helped him get comfortable, even though he was barely conscious. I pulled the covers up around him, and then I slid in next to him, careful not to disturb him too much.

Noah immediately pulled me closer, his arm wrapped loosely around me as he rested his head on my chest. It wasn't the kind of night I had expected—there was no flirting, no teasing—but it felt strangely right. I just wanted him to feel safe.

"You're going to be okay," I whispered, my hand brushing through his hair.

Noah didn't respond right away, but he squeezed me tighter as he started to drift off.

I lay there for a while, thinking about everything he had told me. About his mom, about the pain he was still carrying. It was a lot to take in, but I understood him a little more now.

Eventually, I let my eyes close, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me to sleep. I was there for him now, and somehow, that made everything feel a little less complicated.