𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐫. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

that thing.*

'Alma, get the fuck over here!' Frankie screeched, spotting me as I emerged from the loos and pouncing on me, his eyes sparkling with glitter daubed in the sockets. 'Come and meet Alfie, he adores your work,' he whispered-shouted in my ear. Squeezed between Molly and the gaudily decorated wall of the bar was a lanky guy with a sandy mop of hair, looking somewhat like a less sleazy version of Saul. I smiled drunkenly at him without really meeting his eye, and grabbed Molly's wrist.

'Let's dance, Moll, please. Before I get too tired.'

'Yeah - after I've got another cocktail, hang on...'

I followed her to the bar and leaned over the slightly sticky counter, not quite caring if any stray spirits got on the sleeve of my shirt. 'It's just weird he hasn't messaged, or... or called or anything... oh, god,' I slurred, 'do you think those photos were too much, Moll? The ones you saw?'

'I highly doubt it. He must just be busy - rehearsals perhaps?' Molly shrugged. 'And I did tell you it would turn out to be some fucking artist-muse situation. You're fixated now, look.'

'I am not!' I protested. 'And I don't think of it like that... I think I'm just horny.'

'Or lonely.' She pushed a mai tai into my hand, plucking the maraschino cherry from the top of the glass; she knew I didn't like them and would always give her the neon fruits impaled on toothpicks in my drinks. 'Which is why we're out, bitch. Drink up. Haven't you got that New Yorker profile on Monday?'

'Yeah, but it's so boring,' I drawled, screwing my face up exaggeratedly. 'Writer sits on stool in study. Writer complains about bright lights and how old they look in a professional photo. Agent tries to make me pocket extra cash for touch-ups. Not to mention there's absolutely no decent chat.'

'You're spoilt, you know that?'

I watched Molly stalk past me and whip around as she hit the open floor, holding her drink high as she began to dance, grinning at me, cat-like. I rushed to join her, squeezing between bodies until we faced one another, resting a hand on her waist, letting our hips move in tandem. She smelled like YSL Paris and Trebor Softmints, and I felt a rush of affection for her in the racket of the room - for Frankie too, hanging off a drag queen by the bar, and for Farah on her own night out, wherever she was. I closed my eyes, feeling the trancelike bass of the music through my feet.

It reminded me of Brixton, the glowing, pulsating sounds of Matty's set - he was a good dancer, I remembered, moving his hips almost independently of the rest of his body. I wondered how he would dance if he was here tonight, how utterly beautiful he could look under these pastel lights, how fun it would be to be sky high on mandy with him. I had spent so many quiet, peaceful, secluded times with him, and I suddenly wished deeply to be out in the chaotic world with him instead, moving through the night spontaneously, touching and sneaking kisses. I wanted to taste him and breathe him in. I wanted it so badly that I could feel the craving in every pore.

'Al... Alma. Hey!' Molly grabbed me by the shoulders and hollered in my ear. 'You alright?'

I nodded dreamily, opening my eyes. 'Completely fine. I'm on cloud nine.'

'Could you maybe try not to look like you're astrally projecting in the middle of the club? If I didn't know all you'd taken was MD, I'd think you were k-holing.'

I shook my head. 'Can we go in a bit? I just want us to sit at home and listen to music and talk shit... maybe get some more prosecco. I'll even fork out for proper bubbles, deal?'

'Oh, don't be silly,' she tutted, 'we're not drinking champagne until I get fucking promoted. But fine. Mine or yours?'

'Yours.' I didn't want to be in the house on my own tonight, and Molly's flat in Bethnal Green was cosily familiar. We gathered our things and said our farewells to Frankie before he disappeared into the toilets with the decidedly bisexual Alfie, who I had definitely seen giving him a hickey just minutes before. In the cab I sleepily filled Molly in on the dinner with Matty and the sex after, not that she asked, but because we were in the habit of oversharing with each other. She humoured me and listened until we reached the flat, and had to bundle out of the car.