CALEB’S POV
The bass thumped through the frat house walls, a relentless pulse that vibrated in my chest as I pushed through the crowded living room. The air hung thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and the sharp tang of weed, the kind of chaos that defined Crestwood College's fraternity parties.
Sigma Chi's place was packed tonight, the wooden floors sticky under my boots, red Solo cups scattered like casualties on every surface. Bodies pressed together in the dim glow of string lights and strobe flashes, girls in tight dresses grinding against guys in polos, laughter exploding over the hip-hop blasting from speakers rigged in the corners.
A beer pong table dominated the center, brothers shouting "Rack 'em up!" as balls splashed into cups, winners chugging with triumphant roars
