It was absolute chaos inside. The venue was bursting at the seams, alive with the roar of heavy, pounding techno. The air smelled of sweat, cheap vodka, and spilled beer.
On the dance floor, a mass of heavily intoxicated partygoers stumbled and danced in equal measure, completely lost in the flashing neon lights and the relentless beat.
Ian didn't have to take another step to regret his entire existence.
'Why am I even here? What was I thinking, following that mad dog's suggestion? No, actually, it was a threat—but still...'
In front of him, almost losing herself in the crowd, Clara pushed through the wave of people while trying to guide Ian to the bar. "Ian! Right here!! Come on!! Let's drink something!!!!!"
He wanted to go home.
'Shit, thank God I took some suppressants. The pheromones here are really something. It reeks of them!'
He tried to push past and meet Clara on the other side, but it proved to be a difficult challenge since people were dancing incredibly close to each other in a highly suggestive way—hips grinding together, and some even kissing deeply, locking tongues.
'So this is what we do now, huh? Kissing and devouring each other in public.'
Ian felt intensely uncomfortable having to squeeze and push through them just to reach his friend, who was currently ordering martinis. Probably.
"What took you so long?" Clara screamed, because there was no other way to be heard over the noise.
"Mmm... I don't know, maybe a bunch of people eating each other on the way?" Ian said sarcastically, snatching a martini right out of Clara's hand and downing it in one gulp.
"Wow... Really? Not even a thank you? And how can you just drink it without questioning its contents? My friend, you have to be careful here. What if they kidnap you?!!"
Ian flashed an incredulous look at Clara, then ordered another drink. "Kidnap me? I doubt it. Unless they want me to break a bottle over their head, they better not try."
Clara squinted her eyes. "Yeah, I still remember that night at my cousin's birthday... though that man was actually just flirting."
"Still, he was being insistent and wouldn't listen, so I thought I needed to teach him a lesson."
"Yep! And you also punched him right in the face!" she said, lifting her index finger with a proud expression. Written all over her face was an "I'm proud of you, son" look.
Ian continued chatting mostly with Clara throughout the night, who managed to get completely drunk by her second martini.
He lifted two fingers to test how drunk she was, but it wasn't even necessary since she immediately slammed her head onto the bar counter.
"AH!! WHAT THE FUCK, CLARA, ARE YOU OKAY?!!"
He leaned closer to his drunk friend and started poking her.
"HEY! HEY! Hey!!.. Are you alive? Gods, don't die on me!! You promised that you wouldn't die before me!!"
He was starting to get really worried, ready to call emergency, when he noticed her chest was still rising and falling slowly. She was just sleeping.
"..."
'Ah... really, Clara?'
"You owe me one."
Ian dialed another number and waited for the person to appear as soon as possible. Twenty minutes later, he spotted a familiar figure: broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and acute eyes. It was Clara's boyfriend, Alex. An alpha.
'I just think it's unfair how they get these sturdy, strong bodies while I have to struggle just to maintain my form. Offensive. Really.'
"ALEX! RIGHT HERE!!" Ian screamed, waving his arm frantically to get his attention.
Navigating the crowd, Alex noticed Ian. He jumped up energetically to see over the sea of people, pointing at Clara with his other hand.
"Ian! Thank God she invited you! I told her to wait for me, but she was just so excited to drag you out of your cocoon."
"Please don't say cocoon."
Alex stared at him as if there were absolutely nothing wrong with what he had just said. Then, he lowered his gaze and sighed at the sight of his passed-out girlfriend. It seemed as though he was questioning a few life choices, hesitating to pick her up until he saw Ian gesturing wildly for him to deal with the mess currently sleeping on the counter.
"Well, I'm taking her home, because she clearly isn't going to make it through the rest of the night."
He grabbed Clara by one arm, and even though he was remarkably strong, he still wobbled a bit trying to get a good grip on her. He was about to leave when a thought crossed his mind and he turned back.
He stared at Ian for a few seconds—well, less than a second, because Ian was already glaring back at him aggressively, as if to say, 'What's your problem?'
"Nobody is going to take you home?" Alex finally asked, looking a little confused.
"There's no need. I live near here. If someone weird actually tries to approach me, I'll probably just make an even weirder pose, step up to them menacingly, and scare the life out of them."
Alex, remembering exactly who he was talking to, gave him a complicated, disbelieving look—like someone observing an exotic animal at the zoo.
"You know... THAT I actually don't doubt," he said.
With Clara tucked at his side, nearly slipping from his embrace, he started on his merry way. He waved his hand at Ian over his shoulder. "Still, be careful!"
"Yeah, yeah...bye passed-out Clara!"
Alex moved Clara's hand, simulating a wave, and disappeared into the crowd.
And then, just instantly...
"Hi there, you beauty."
Ian stopped.
He turned around, and immediately regretted it.
'Oh, for fuck's sake!'
A man who looked to be in his thirties approached Ian in a flirty manner. He leaned against the counter, crowding directly into Ian's personal space.
'ONE MINUTE! IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN ONE DAMN MINUTE!!!'
"Get lost."
The man grinned. "Difficult... I like it."
'Shit.' Ian made a disgusted face.
The man in front of him had multiple facial piercings, a pair of basic jeans, and an old black hoodie. His hair was well-combed, and his complexion wasn't terrible, but the smile on his face...
It was a deeply unattractive grin. The greasy way he threw his words out made Ian wish he could just disappear or blend into the crowd.
'In some situations, I don't even get noticed, so let me just...'
But before he could turn around and escape into the throng of people, the man abruptly grabbed him by the wrist.
"??!!!"
The grip on his wrist was so tight it made Ian wince; it actually hurt. "...Listen here, you imbecil, If you don't let go by the count of three, I'm going to make you regret ever coming here tonight."
"I must admit, you've got an attitude," the man answered with an ungraceful smirk, running his tongue over his lips. "But that isn't going to be enough... right, omega?"
'SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.'
In that exact moment, Ian could feel the man intentionally releasing his stagnant, acrid pheromones right at him. Being bathed in the foul scent made his head spin, leaving him instantly dizzy and lightheaded. An alpha was trying to make him weak.
'OHOHO?? IS THAT YOUR GAME?'
'OKAY, THAT'S IT.'
And just like that, within a five-minute window inside the club, there were a few bottles smashed, a glass broken, several punches thrown, and a dramatic person screaming as Ian stormed out of the venue.
He was completely furious and utterly exhausted by the horrible, unpleasant experience.
At least he felt a tiny bit satisfied. He hoped the guy's nose wouldn't heal completely for at least a month. If anyone came to complain, he would just say he was scared and deeply terrified—not without giving his most victimized performance, of course—and then claim that he was only protecting himself.
'Let's see if anyone actually dares to come to me and complain!!'
As he made his way home, he walked along the street, thoroughly unsatisfied with his failed night of fun.
He noticed a few men still drifting between bars or heading back to their houses, and to him, everyone seemed to know where they were going except Ian.
Then, he noticed a vintage bar illuminating the street next to a perfume shop, and he didn't have to think twice before deciding to head inside to salvage the end of his night.
Contrary to his expectations, the place was full of people, but they were noticeably better dressed.
'At least,' Ian scoffed internally.
He made his way to the bar counter, which felt like a forgotten 1920s speakeasy, complete with geometric gold accents and mirrors that had aged beautifully with time.
"What can I get for you, sir?" an elegant bartender at the counter asked Ian in a polite, soft manner.
'This place screams "old money" so loud my bank account is sweating just by looking at his face.'
"A Negroni on the rocks, please."
"Right away."
In a matter of seconds, the bartender handed Ian his drink. He stared at it for a moment before drinking, tracing his finger along the rim of the glass, swirling the liquid, and watching it with a subtle smile before bringing it to his lips.
The second drink disappeared much faster than the first.
And by the time he was working on his third glass, he felt the heavy presence of another man sliding onto the stool right next to him.