If Only (GxG)

Chapter 41 It's Out Now...

A/N
🎶LUNCH by Billie Elish🎶

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Alison's POV

The music was loud enough to feel in my ribs—deep bass that thudded through my chest and made the air itself feel alive. Lights swept across the room in slow pulses of violet and gold, shattering across the sticky floor, catching on faces—strangers and friends alike. The space was packed, bodies pressed close, glitter and sweat and motion. It was chaos, but the kind I didn't mind.

I usually hated crowds.

But not these kinds.

Not the ones that offered anonymity and zero expectations. No one cared who you were in a place like this. They just wanted the beat, the buzz of alcohol, the high of being young and free and just a little bit reckless. For once, I didn't feel watched. I didn't feel wrong. I just felt here.

We were out celebrating graduation. Really celebrating.

The club was massive, a cavern of sound and light, and the handful of classmates who'd come out tonight felt like a dot in the ocean. I mostly kept track of Amy and Ross, bumping into the others here and there. At the moment, Ross and Jayson were somewhere near the bar, laughing at something with a group of our classmates. Amy had been dancing beside me a moment ago, her hair sticking to her jaw, eyes wild and gleaming with too much tequila.

We were done. Officially. Finally. It was over.

I let my head fall back, eyes half-lidded, the music crashing over me like a wave. The lights strobed across the ceiling—violet, blue, white, violet—and my heart beat in time with the rhythm. I could barely feel my feet. My body moved on instinct, loose and light, caught somewhere between exhaustion and euphoria.

Eventually, Amy grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the bathrooms, both of us laughing breathlessly as we pushed through the crush of bodies, weaving past someone in a feather boa and a guy double-fisting tequila sunrises who really should've stopped drinking five minutes ago.

The bathrooms were unisex—crowded and loud, but not in a bad way. People were laughing, reapplying lipstick, rinsing sweat from their faces, already plotting which club to hit next. Everything smelled like perfume and soap and someone's cloying aftershave.

We stepped out of the stalls just in time to catch sight of someone in an open cubicle across the mirror wall.

Thomas.

He was casually palming a small plastic bag from his coat pocket and popping a little pink pill into his mouth. He looked up when he saw us, completely unbothered, his grin wide and glassy.

"Oi!" he said brightly. "Alison, Amy. Fancy one?"

Amy blinked. "Jesus."

Thomas just kept grinning, slipping the bag back into his pocket with a shrug.

"Thomas, mate," I said, voice dry. "That will literally kill you."

He shrugged again—careless, cocky, as if the night was too high to be touched by consequences. Then he grabbed his drink from the top of the toilet tank and sloshed half of it onto his shoes without blinking.

We moved past him as he said something—something I didn't catch. The music surged again, bursting through the bathroom doors as someone came in, swallowing his words in the thud of bass and synth and bodies.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp, thick with cigarette smoke and London's usual cocktail of rain, exhaust, and whatever takeaway someone had spilled near the curb. Someone was trying to start a chant about freedom. Amy lit a cigarette she didn't need, handed it to a stranger in a sequin jacket, and winked.