Midnight Rendezvous: A SandRay Story

Chapter 7: Blindsided by the Truth

Sand's POV

The initial sight upon joining Ray's friends was Boston leading a toast with his usual exuberance, energetically encouraging everyone to down their drinks before he consumed his own. Standing alongside him was a tall, muscular man who seemed oddly familiar. A closer look confirmed that he was the person who had picked me up from the bar around six months back – the same person I had a one night stand with, his name is Top if I recall correctly. While he was decent in that regard, I couldn't help but acknowledge that Ray outperformed him in this aspect.

Beside Top was Mew, gazing at him affectionately, a clearly smitten smile gracing his lips. I eventually noticed Ray's tension beside me as he stiffened at this scene. He remained frozen in place, only moving when Boston spotted us and called out for his friend to join them.

Ray awkwardly maneuvered toward his circle of friends, and I couldn't help but observe the shift in his demeanor. Evidently uncomfortable, he might even have been harboring some resentment, though I couldn't pinpoint the reason. Our mood was light-hearted before entering the bar.

Warm welcomes were exchanged, and introductions were extended to include Ray and me. Top shamelessly acted as if he didn't recognize me, and I mirrored the pretense. Clearly, neither of us wanted the group to be privy to our past liaison – a sentiment I wholeheartedly shared. Ray, however, displayed his dissatisfaction during the introductions, offering a mere nod in Top's direction.

I endeavored to maintain composure despite the absurd unfolding of events. Ray's seething demeanor was evident as he downed shot after shot of tequila, his gaze unintentionally drifting toward Top and Mew, who were unmistakably flirting.

A sourness churned in my stomach, threatening to resurface, the acrid taste and burn creeping up my throat as a realization dawned on me. Ray's intense jealousy had a clear cause – he is in love with Mew. No other explanation could account for the obvious resentment emanating from his usually beautiful eyes. If glances could be lethal, Top would be in dire straits. His grip on the glass was nearly crushing, his obliviousness to everyone else around him – including me – was telling.

A mysterious sensation squeezed at my heart, suffocating me. I fumbled for a cigarette and mumbled to no one in particular about stepping out for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, nobody seemed to notice. How foolish was I to believe I held any significance within this group?

As smoke dissipated into the night air, my self-directed anger mingled with the bitter tobacco taste. How often had I assured myself that Ray and I were merely friends? Friends who engaged in physical intimacy, yet fundamentally remained just that – friends. The turmoil within me was nothing more than possessiveness over a friend. It was only natural to feel upset when a friend neglected your presence, right? My current distress stemmed from Ray inviting me to this absurd club and subsequently ignoring me upon encountering Top and Mew.

I leaned against the wall, scoffing at my own foolishness. Who was I kidding? Sand, you dumbass. Didn't you say you will avoid catching feelings at all cost? You just went and snagged it all oh so thoroughly.

Ray's POV

In spite of the dimness enveloping the wretched club, I swear I could make out Top and Mew with startling clarity, engaged in their laughable flirtation. Top was encroaching upon Mew's personal space, which was rather unusual given his typical discomfort with proximity, yet Mew seemed to lean into it, reveling in the attention and undeniably smitten. That look – the very one I had yearned for – was now being willingly bestowed upon someone he had met just hours ago. No amount of alcohol could cleanse the bitter taste in my mouth.

I longed to slam my fist into Boston's smug face. He had the audacity to sport that ridiculously wide grin, fully aware that his actions were designed to inflict misery upon me. If anyone in this world was privy to my unrequited feelings for Mew, it was Boston. He had often teased me about my inability to directly express my emotions to Mew, and he had witnessed every ludicrous stunt I had pulled in the name of these damn feelings. Yet here we stood, Boston fulfilling his pledge to help Mew lose his virginity before our graduation, clearly selecting the ideal candidate judging by the heart-eyed looks Mew was showering upon Top.

Having known each other since middle school, Mew, Boston, Syrup, and I had navigated through a multitude of outrageous escapades together. But nothing had been as bewildering as my unreciprocated affections for Mew. I often pondered whether this stemmed from our group's mutual reliance on each other or if it originated from the fact that Mew had been the one to hold my hand during times of illness or discomfort, filling the void left by my absent father. Perhaps it even traced back to that painful memory of overdosing on pills in the bathtub – it had been Mew who rescued me, escorted me to the hospital, and convinced me to seek rehabilitation, inadvertently preventing my own demise.

During the grueling process of detox and withdrawal, it was Mew's face I would glimpse peering through my rehab room door. And when I finally emerged from rehab, it was Mew who kept me on the straight and narrow, ensuring I never strayed down that perilous path again. My innocent, warm-hearted Mew, a beacon of light at the end of my darkest tunnel.

Jealousy gnawed at me, my grip on the whiskey glass almost painful. Yet, did I have any right to feel jealous? As Mew's friend, I should be elated for him. Rarely did Mew form connections with humans outside our group of friends – Boston, Syrup, and myself. It was unjustifiable for me to throw a tantrum simply because Mew couldn't reciprocate the pitiable sentiments I harbored. My debt to him ran too deep to inflict harm in such a manner. It had been years, and I recognized that Mew had deliberately ignored or sidestepped my unmistakable feelings for him, not out of ignorance – he was far too intelligent for that – but out of a desire to spare me pain.

How could this not be causing me pain? The sight of him so overtly enamored with someone else felt more agonizing than a physical blow. It was as if a permanent chokehold had me in its grip, stifling my breath. I finally determined that enough was enough; I had to depart before I succumbed to irreparable folly.

I scanned the surroundings, searching for Sand, my belated recollection reminding me that we had arrived together. My gaze swept across the dimly lit club, but I couldn't spot the tall, handsome lad I had come with. He was impossible to overlook. Despite Sand's understated style, he had an inadvertent magnetic presence. So, where was he? Maybe he felt too uncomfortable here, he did tell me he was not too keen on joining us tonight. It might be a good thing then that he left, although a goodbye would have been appreciated. I do not think I have enough strength in me to explain to Sand my glaring smarting feelings.