collision

chapter 13; earth

It's nighttime. They're walking down the lit up streets of London, having just gotten out of a taxi. Troye is amazed by the mere concept of that activity, and he would not stop whispering excitedly about how much he loves car rides for the entire trip. So he's excited. Why wouldn't be be? He's wearing his suspenders, his new bright colored jeans, and his very nicely fitting button down. He knows Jacob is watching his back. He feels a little invincible. Sue him.

"So, where exactly are you taking us? Are there rules we need to follow?" he asks Adam, skipping along the concrete on his tip toes, trying to avoid stepping on the sidewalk cracks.

Adam laughs. "Usually, yes, but honestly... This is the nastiest club in London. No one gives a shit about what you do in there. I'm not going to bring you to some fancy place, that'd take away the fun. Just don't get in a fist fight and you should be good."

Troye considers this for a bit. Of course, he is a little concerned. The nastiest club in London doesn't exactly sound like a place where he can be in control of things, and he likes to be. It's enough as it is that he has no experience with this situation to begin with.

Jacob and Cory, on the other hand, seem pleased with this, praising Adam's choice.

"Fantastic, Adam," Cory compliments. "Great taste. Just how it's supposed to be."

The building they're approaching is pretty shabby on the outside, only half of the neon letters above the door still glowing.

After another seconds of walking, Jacob steps in next to Troye, and he starts waving and saying goodbye to the other three. Troye is visibly confused, but Adam immediately plays along as Jacob pulls Troye away to the closest street corner, waving and telling them that they'll be waiting by the bar.

"What are you doing?" Troye hisses, ripping his arm out of Jacob's grip. "Why aren't we going in?"

Jacob rolls his eyes and places his hand right back on Troye bicep. Troye has to tense all of his muscles to not lean into the warmth of that touch, and he despises his own irrational weakness.

"We are, remember? Stay relaxed and shut up," Jacob commands, before they're both dissolving into the air, once again floating through the weird in-between Troye still doesn't entirely know how to feel about.

He barely has the time to react before Jacob lets go again and this time they're somewhere completely different, Troye landing with both his hands pressed up against the dirty, scrabbled on walls of a bathroom stall to not lose balance.

Jacob straightens out the hem of his shirt and takes a deep breath.

"Right, that was that," he concludes, reaching for the door, but Troye instantly catches his fingers to pry them away.

"What if there are people outside?" he protests. "We can't just come out two people from a bathroom, no one does that!"

"Relax." Jacob rolls his eyes. "If anyone's out there they'll just think we hooked up. It's no big deal."

"Wh—yeah, it is!"

Jacob, unsurprisingly, doesn't listen, just ruffles his hair a little and opens the door like it doesn't faze him even the tiniest bit. Which it obviously doesn't. But still.

Troye snorts in exasperation, but follows him out of the restrooms and into the club.

As soon as he steps outside, a deep bass line hits against him with force, drumming in his chest and ringing in his ears, and that's the first thing he feels. Then comes the lively, colorful lights, the heat clinging to his skin, the smell of sweat, perfume and alcohol, and then Jacob's arm grazing his own.