Nightlife ✓

17 | boundary

WITH THE DAWN OF A new week came the rise of a new Krista.

For my peace of mind, some things had to change about my perception of Quen. I couldn't let his marching band rehearsals be the most exciting part of my day, nor could I continue chasing down opportunities to spend time with him as if they were goldfish food and I was a goldfish.

I had more brains than that.

The first step was turning off notifications about his messages. Granted, it took more than just turning the notifications off for me to stop checking my phone, but it was the thought that counted. In time I would learn not to anticipate Quen getting in touch, raising my hopes for no good reason. If he happened to ask me about the homework, or send through a coding, or Star Wars meme—pretty much the only two things we conversed over—I would see it eventually.

At a time that didn't interfere with my own priorities.

I still sat with Quen in the lectures. Most of the time, we were too focused on the professor to really get sidetracked so there was no harm in being next to him. Plus, it was good to have someone with which to consolidate the material and catch the words that slipped through my ears.

The second step was to remain professional at work. That wasn't to say up till this point my behaviour regarding Quen had been unprofessional. All the goods and services—meaning food and VIP access—that I had given him and his friends were paid for by yours truly, and I never spent more than twenty minutes with them on any night.

Like, I knew some bouncers who took bathroom breaks longer than that.

But no matter how I compensated for the special treatment, the special treatment itself needed to stop. I needed to give every patron equal time and attention, and if his friend group were about to be kicked out or turned away, I wouldn't save any of them. Even though I was confident I could stick to those boundaries, when I arrived at work on Tuesday evening, ready for the student night rush, a part of me was unsure.

He was so adorable when he was drunk. Red-cheeked, playful and talkative. It was so exhilarating going toe to toe with his unfiltered blunt opinions, despite knowing I shouldn't take anyone's liquor talk seriously. Even Quen's. And those occasional moments when he stubbornly just had to fight to be heard over the pounding music, and he'd drop his mouth beside my ear—

I slammed my head back against my car seat. Quit fantasising. The dumpster that Topaz shared with the two businesses adjacent to the building stared back at me. It was steadily getting colder, and the stream of warm air from the dashboard heater died softly after I cut the engine.

I could totally stick to my boundaries with Quen.

But what if I couldn't?

Better yet, what if I didn't have to? All my problems would be solved if he just stopped frequenting Topaz. Quen going to town was always the off chance, anyways.

He was as balanced as a college student could be, but he leaned towards the more introverted side of the social spectrum. Sometimes I spotted him at Topaz before he spotted me—which was rare, considering the flashy, attention-grabbing nature of my usual attire—and just observed him with his usual crew, Fraser and Noah.

True to what I had discovered the second time I ran into him here, he didn't like to dance.

It was not that he was incapable of it. Being a musician meant he could easily catch a beat, but he never seemed to be able to lose himself in the music the way others did, albeit that, in general, others were mentally lost under the influence of either alcohol or drugs.

Quen would sway his shoulders while his friends would jump up and down with boundless energy. He would softly pump his fist while his friends punched the air like the air had murdered their family. And when Fraser and Noah would zone back in enough from their drunken stupor to scrutinise if he was having fun, Quen would match their jumping and arm movements with a smile so bright it blinded them to his apathy.