The Fox in Orange Light

I'd been hiding in Jordan's bathroom for twenty minutes, getting personally victimized by a goldfish. The little guy swam in endless circles, and honestly? Same. My social anxiety was doing laps around this party too.

Outside, bass shook the walls. Jordan's entire house was aggressively orange—orange walls, orange fairy lights, an orange sectional that had definitely seen better (and drunker) nights. I took a breath and opened the door.

And there was Kai. The fox.

That's what I called him in my head because he moved through parties like he was hunting something—sharp angles, knowing smiles, copper-tipped hair, eyes always laughing at jokes you hadn't heard. He stood by the food table, eating papaya like it was normal party food. The pretentiousness was almost impressive.

Your goldfish is living his best life, I said, because apparently my survival instincts were offline tonight.

Kai looked up, face half-lit by those orange fairy lights. Yeah? Little dude's got more commitment than me. Same loop for three hours.

Big mood, I said, and immediately wanted to cringe myself into oblivion.

But Kai laughed. Real laugh. He held out papaya. It's not terrible. Jordan's mom had a tropical Costco phase.

I took it. Sweet, soft, weirdly perfect.

Lightning flashed through the windows, everything stark white. Thunder shook the floorboards, and suddenly the whole party scrambled away from glass like the sky was attacking them.

Fish is probably vibing, Kai said, watching the chaos with a crooked smile.

At least someone's having fun.

Power died. Pitch black, except storm light through windows. Someone shrieked. And then Kai's shoulder was warm against mine, smelling like papaya and expensive cologne.

I hate parties, he said quietly.

Then why come?

Therapist says exposure therapy. Pause. Also, free papaya.

I laughed, real this time. The fox wasn't untouchable. Just a guy who ate weird fruit and had a therapist.

We sat by the fish tank through the storm, watching lightning paint the ceiling, talking about his acoustic guitar phase and my disaster Spanish presentation and why everyone pretended to like White Claw when it tasted like sadness.

When power came back on and people flooded the room, neither of us moved.

I'm not usually like this, Kai said, gesturing at himself. The social thing.

Me neither.

The goldfish circled. Kai caught my eye, and we both smiled. Maybe swimming in circles wasn't so bad if you weren't doing it alone.