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ON LATE NIGHTS, london was usually this busy.
the lights blurred together to form blobs of greens before morphing into blobs of pink and blue as alex looked out the window, head lazily resting on the glass as his uber drove him to his not-so-desired location.
busy nights meant high business, something alex knew his friend george relished in. almost every night—it didn't matter what day it was—george would find himself inside the club he owned, and men ages eighteen to whatever would follow behind him. some were known by name, as they were regulars, and others were there for the sex and the cheap drinks before they fucked off somewhere else.
alex always avoided that place as much as he could; he didn't have anything against the club or anyone in it (it'd be highly hypocritical if he did anyways), but there was just something about the atmosphere that always made him feel all sorts of uncomfortable.
that, and he had never been inside — it was a sort of "judging a book by its cover" type scenario.
alex sighed and closed his eyes, letting the lull of the car moving relax him slightly. george had personally asked him to come and had even paid for his uber drive. maybe, alex thought, that was the root of his sudden anxiety: as great as george was, he never did anything this out of the ordinary, and the possibilities as to why was making alex go insane.
"you alright, kid?"
the uber driver's voice made the twenty-year-old jump, the boy clearing his throat and straightening himself out. "i-i think so," he stuttered, frowning at himself before shaking his head. "just thinking."
"about your friend, george?"
"yeah, you could say that." he rolled his eyes at the uber driver's suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "not in that way."
while george and alex did have their flirty comments, there was a silent but firm agreement between the both of of them that it would remain purely platonic. both of them admitted to one another that, at one point in their friendship, they did have feelings for one another, only for them to laugh it off via drinking.
the car pulled over to the curb, alex thanking the driver before wearily getting out. standing on the sidewalk of the boulevard, he looked up and down the street before shoving his hands in his pockets, the bright neon colors of the club sign almost blinding him.
george's club was one of those buildings that looked extremely shady on the outside, but was extremely nice on the inside. he had bought it from this random man about four or so months ago (despite the club being open for years) who was a) losing passion for the business and b) wasn't making enough money for rent, and since then george had completely injected new life to the club — sometimes alex thought there was a little too much life.
