AGAINST THE RULES

Chapter 19

Champagne is flowing, floor sticky with Campari and glitter, the dark room dotted with throbbing neon lights moving to the beat of Top 40 dance music.

Bright is seated quietly in a corner couch, holding a guitar pensively. He is strumming absent-mindedly, seemingly oblivious to the loudness surrounding him.

A laugh rings above the music and he looks up, momentarily drawn to the source of the laughter- a lean muscular figure outshining every person in the room, basking in the adoration of everyone around him, iridescent in a
crystal-studded leather jacket he called dibs on this morning - Win.

Bright shakes his head and goes back to the guitar, when a hand appears in front of him.

"Let's dance," Win says, beaming down at Bright, cheeks flushed with alcohol, sweat, and happiness.

"No," Bright says as if that's the most ridiculous offer he has ever received.

"Dance," Win insists. "It's our welcome back party. It's bad for the optics if you sulk."

"Optics?," Bright asks, bemused. "Are you Win or Ohm in disguise?"

"Dance," Win responds, wiggling his eyebrows. He extends his hand towards Bright again, hips shimmying.

Bright gives a huff but he holds on to Win's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. At the contact, he feels it again - the static charge he had been feeling all day.

Bright's mind raced back to the photo shoot - how his pulse would quicken every time the photographer would ask them to move closer. How his hands would go cold and clammy when he put it on Win's shoulder. How he'd have to fight back butterflies when Win leaned into his chest or turned to him to smile.
He could safely explain away all those feelings before - it was acting. They were a love team and he was simply a brilliant actor feeling what he's paid to feel. But what was his excuse now? Bright withdraws his hand, dancing with Win was probably not the best idea.

"No backing out now," Win teases, pulling Bright to the dance floor.  The crowd notices them and cheers. Bright was trapped and he knew it. So he follows Win, stealing a shot from a passing waiter and downing it. 'Disgusting,' he thinks. Why did people like shots again?

They dance, Bright awkward as ever but laughing as Win mimed a chicken then a robot. He steals another shot from a passing tray, letting the warm amber liquid erase the thoughts in his mind and loosen his limbs.

The crowd is around them now, too busy having fun to keep paying Bright and Win any attention.

The two are trying to make a joke out of dancing together. They weren't really dancing, right? They were copying dinosaurs, doing faux twerks, exaggerating folk dances and failing at the running man. Surely, this was not dancing. But then Bright mimes the tango, right arm shooting  forward. As if instinct, Win clasps Bright's outstretched hand then places his other hand on the small of Bright's waist. Bright tentatively puts his free hand on Win's shoulder. They glance up, eyes locking. Win grins and they tango terribly around the room, filling it with electricity.

The song stops and they let go, laughing as a new song starts.

"Hey," a smooth melodic voice says. "Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to say hello! And welcome back!"

In front of them is Shiela - a stunning brunette with legs for days, showed off by a dress with a slit as high as her singing voice. She is a sight to behold in stoplight red.

"Hi," the boys both say to the newcomer.

Shiela moves closer, her hand travels up and down Win's arm. "Cool jacket," she says. "Reminds me of the one we saw in Dubai."