Deadline≫hemmings a.u

0.1

Have you ever been clubbing?

Bright, piercing lights that will burn and blind you if you stare too long and you've had one too many drinks.

Loud music? That's an understatement. The music is so loud, you can't even hear yourself ask why you aren't deaf. All you can feel is the vibration of sound waves or the buzz of alcohol...maybe the feel of the bodies moving around you or the stranger's hands on your hips.

Laughing? If you can hear over the music, sure there's laughing. Intoxicated voices, screaming incoherent words and a jumble of things that sound more like the staccato sound of laughter than a sentence. Maybe, if you're careful, or just really have a good ear, you can hear the whispers of the stranger who found his way over to you.

There's a lot I can tell you about clubbing, but there's one thing you should know. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Just a bunch of sweaty bodies belonging to people who don't want to be themselves for a night, rubbing up against another. You get drunk, exhaust yourself, maybe even find new people whether they become friends or just a nameless person you won't recognize if you ever saw again.

But rarely, you might come across one of those people, where you have no idea whether or not you'll know them from that night on, much less whether you really want to, until it's too late.

***

He was dressed in all black from head-to-toe, with rips in his skinny jeans over the knees. Rubber bracelets covered his wrists for bands I was sure I never I really listened to. Ever. His blonde hair was styled up and messy, whether it was like that by accident or on purpose, I didn't know.

His strong jawline was lined with stubble, a few shades darker than his hair. Those circles of bright blue were unreadable to me, although undeniably alluring, even from across the room. Every now and then, when his lips weren't attached to a beer bottle or forming words meant for the odd character seated next to him at the bar, he would lick them once before pulling the bottom one, playing with the lip ring that glinted on the left side of his mouth.

His friend was a character, just as noticable, but in a different way. He wore unripped black skinny jeans and a black Misfits sweater. I had never personally listened to them, but I used to know people who had. His black boots were fitted and scuffed, tucked onto the bottom bar of his stool.

Hands wrapped around a beer bottle, he brought it to his lips. I could just make out a perfect 'X' on the back of it his middle finger. Maybe it's the Roman numeral ten, or means strike. But maybe it's just an X. I had no clue. When he set the bottle back down, I could see the small black anchor on the thumb of his other hand. That could mean a number of things. More interesting than his hand tattoos was his tousled bright red hair. It contrasted with his light skin and dark clothing. The two boys both had piercings, but instead of having his lip pierced, the bright haired one had his eyebrow pierced.

The two conversed as they drank, both of their eyes, blue and green, were steady and unreadable.

I noticed this all in the few seconds I had between the moment I walked into the building and before I was swept away into the electric crowd and numbed by the alcohol.

***

"I'm a shit dancer!" The boy yelled over the music as we immerse ourselves into the moving mass of people. I didn't know his name, or anything about this kid, really. But he was attractive. And if you find yourself standing next to an attractive person at a club who's not dancing, you dance with him.

"Who gives a fuck?" I shouted back, grabbing his hands and swinging them between us as I start to move my hips to heavy beat of the blaring music. He laughed and let go of one of my hands, raising the other and spinning me around. Once I came around, there was a second of silence before the bass dropped. But in that second, I fully took in the face of the boy I was dancing with.