I couldn't believe I'd turned away from Howl—no, Darien. I believe his sister called him that.
His sister…
Yeah, I could believe it. They were both drop-dead gorgeous. Ridiculously so…
I scanned the room, heart hammering. I knew I couldn't leave just yet, but I needed somewhere, anywhere, to go. Somewhere that could put a bit of distance between me and him.
My face burned, my throat felt too tight, and I wasn't breathing properly. Probably looked like I was on the verge of a panic attack. Maybe I was.
Then I spotted the ice buckets lined with drinks. Perfect. An excuse. It'd save me from standing against a wall like some awkward freak who wasn't brave enough to talk to the hot lead singer of a band.
I walked steadily, eyes forward, refusing to look back in case he was watching my pathetic attempt at a casual retreat.
The music was a chill, gothy rock band - something I vaguely recognised from the '80s. As I passed by clusters of guests—some laughing, others deep in conversation, a few ignoring all normal rules about public displays - I kept my gaze level, trying very hard not to get too intrigued.
Finally, I reached the table and began rummaging through the various buckets. Beers. Sugary, lurid-coloured alcopops. Nothing but alcohol, which is something I didn't need right now. No soda - until I reached the end, near some stacked crates where glasses and small bottles of spirits were laid out. Ah, the mixer station.
I snagged a sparkling lemonade and opened it with the available bottle opener and held the cold bottle to my cheek sighing from the cool relief.
The chill against my flushed skin should've grounded me -
But it didn't.
Instead, it made me think of that damn vision again.
His hand caressing my cheek.
His lips, so close.
That soft, rough pull of his body against mine.
Girl, knock this off or you're going to cause this soda to burst from your own heat.
I have a boyfriend.
Carter.
Oh crap. Carter.
The guilt hit me like a wave. If I was having feelings - even animalistic ones - for another man, this was a very, very bad sign.
I placed the bottle down a little too hard and gripped the table's edge, trying to steady my breathing.
I wasn't a cheater.
I would never be that girl.
And maybe that's why I was so mortified - and angry - with myself.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
I forced Carter's face into my thoughts. His boy-next-door blonde hair, those light blue eyes, the little smirk he got when geeking out over something nerdy.
Okay… that helped. A little.
Then -
A presence.
I felt it behind me before I saw him.
Turning, I was met with shoulder-length dark waves and those violet eyes, watching me like I was the most amusing thing he'd seen all night.
A small smile tugged at his lips, and I bit the inside of mine.
No.
Darien followed me here.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
My mind screamed it on loop.
"You know, being in my line of work, I manage to get various reactions from people when I approach. It would be a shame if you were the first to avoid me."
He raised his brows and inclined his head ever so slightly when he said you, sending a shiver down my spine and causing my mouth to pop open like a brainless fish.
He stepped closer. I instinctively backed up, bumping against the table. The glasses rattled, chiming softly like they'd witnessed a hundred other moments like this.
No way. Surely I wasn't that special?
Still, his words clung to me like static. He meets new people all the time. He flirts for a living. He oozes sexuality like it's cologne, and for some brilliant reason, my brain decided to remind me that I was probably just another notch on his rock-and-roll, egotistical belt.
A line like that? Probably recycled on anyone with a heartbeat.
Right there and then, I decided I wasn't going to let a vision mess with my head.
I wasn't going to give in to stupid impulses.
And I was definitely not going to become some fangirl with goo-goo eyes over a tall, tanned, dark-haired peacock.
I have a boyfriend!
And I wasn't the kind of girl who cheated.
I pushed off the table and squared my shoulders. Then, with a smirk I didn't entirely feel, I met his gaze.
"I have a boyfriend."
I said it oh-so-confidently, like I was wearing it as a shield. To be fair, I could've opened with anything else, but blurting that out made me feel I had a least set the expectations and boundaries.
Darien blinked—then smirked. He found it amusing. Not the reaction I was expecting.
He placed a hand on his chin like he was pondering something, then began to slowly circle me, studying me like I was some piece of art he couldn't quite figure out.
I didn't take my eyes off him.
"Hmmmmm." His gaze trailed over me as he circled, all lazy calculation and wolfish grin.
Like a predatory wolf, my mind added.
"What are you doing?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin as I pivoted to follow him.
"I'm trying to figure out your type," he said, tone infuriatingly calm.
"My type," I repeated, incredulous, one brow arched.
"Well, you see," he continued smoothly, "the usual punters of Club Dusk come here for many reasons. Excitement. Passion. A night of freedom. Whatever their heart desires."
My eyebrows knitted. True enough, but what exactly was he getting at? When I didn't answer he continued.
"People in relationships," he went on, "either come together for… wicked experimentation—each to their own, of course - or they come alone, to fulfil certain… sacrilegious desires their partners cannot give them."
He stopped directly in front of me, far too close. His eyes flashed with mischief, like he'd just laid a trap.
"I don't see you with anyone, apart from your friends, so my guess is the second type."
I scoffed and rolled my eyes, arms crossing before I even realised it.
Damn him - he'd hit a nerve. No way was I giving him the satisfaction.
"You're way off," I said, voice firm. "I came here for a night of fun with my friends and to listen to some good music. I didn't come here to be swept off my feet by some sleazy singer who thinks he knows people."
His brows lifted in surprise, but that grin of his remained maddeningly in place. It irritated me so much I stepped forward - forcing him to take a step back this time.
"Not everyone is interested in dark deeds in the shadows, you know," I added, gesturing to the small crowd behind me.
He laughed, low and amused.
"Quite the vixen once you are cornered, aren't you?"
I groaned at the nickname. I'd had plenty of nicknames in my life. While this one was new, it wasn't exactly original.
Sure, I'd been called Foxy, Fox, Red, Lil' Red, Ginger, Carrot Top…
I mean, what next—an unoriginal nickname for my freckles?
Darien only grinned wider. He stepped away from me, turned to the table, and poured himself a drink with casual ease. I watched as he took a sip, eyes half-lidded and calculating as he savoured it before swallowing.
Then he looked back at me, perched himself on the edge of the table, and grinned like a cat with cream. He also handed me back my sparkling lemonade.
"So," he drawled, "you're a fan of mine. Since you came here for 'good music'."
The ego on this one.
I took a sip of my soda, ready to fire back something appropriately snarky. But… I stopped.
Instead, I gave him honesty.
"Well, a fan of your lyrics," I admitted. "The music's good, but it's the words that hooked me."
That caught him off guard. Interest flickered across his face - real, unguarded interest.
"Is that so? Any particular song?"
Dare I say it - I think I heard excitement in his voice. Like no one had bothered to talk to him about this before.
"I liked the last one," I said, thinking back. "Into the Shadows?"
"Into the Dusk," he corrected gently. "That one's fairly new. Wrote it a couple of months ago. Took forever to find the right melody for it."
"I liked it," I said softly, almost to myself. "Especially the line: I see your perfect imperfections."
A small smile appeared on my face.
He stared. A little too long. And oh, what I would've given to know what was going through his head in that moment.
"What did that lyric mean to you?" he asked at last, standing and taking a step closer.
Oh. That one lyric practically shouted my own insecurities back at me. I had only just met this guy, and I didn't think I wanted to reveal all that to a stranger. I tried to make my answer sound more generic.
"Well… I guess it's about how everyone feels imperfect, and they just… want someone to accept those imperfections. Especially the people closest to them," I said with a shrug, suddenly feeling twelve years old and very shy.
"Humph." He smirked and took another sip of his drink. I thought he was disappointed with my answer, since he didn't pry further and instead asked, "So, what other music are you into?"
That caught me off guard. I'd been expecting more of a flirty comeback, but he actually looked curious.
"Oh, I'm a huge fan of FU5E."
His eyes widened, like he didn't quite believe me.
"Really? Aren't you a little young for them? They peaked in the late eighties, early nineties, right?"
He wasn't wrong. People my age aren't exactly into them, but I shrugged. His response was a little odd, though. He looked my age, yet his tone reminded me of my dad. Maybe he meant it more as a music-connoisseur comment.
"My dad…" I explained. "He popped the cassette in the car one day when he was driving me to school. I must've been, what, seven or eight? I couldn't stop humming this one song all day. Drove my teacher and friends mad. On the drive back, I begged him to play it again, and we ended up singing together. Of course, I didn't know the lyrics, so I butchered them completely."
I smiled shyly. That was a lot to admit to a stranger. My big mouth strikes again. But there was no boredom on his face, only warmth in those violet eyes. And that damnably addictive smile.
"Go on," he urged. "What was the song?"
My face burned.
"Well, uh, keep in mind, I didn't know about the symbolism until much, much later…" I fiddled with my hair, mortified.
Darien chuckled under his breath, then took a step closer.
"I bet I can guess."
His voice dropped, low and haunting, as he sang the first line of the chorus:
"When I call your name, I see midnight in your eyes…"
I exhaled sharply. Hearing him sing it gave the words an entirely different weight. He paused and nodded at me to continue. "You fall to your knees, I want you there."
I half-sang, half-spoke the line, my voice breathless. The song was bold, its meaning anything but innocent. At the time of its release, it was pretty risqué for its time.
Darien's reply was molten velvet:
"The night pulls me in, I'm lost to your fire…"
My eyes fluttered shut. His voice seeped into me, igniting something deep and unnameable -desire, passion, heat. When I opened my eyes, his violet gaze was locked on mine.
I whispered the final lyric:
"Midnight in your eyes, I'm already there."
He was inches from me now, expression unreadable - almost… conflicted.
I broke the moment like a coward, clearing my throat and retreating to sip my soda.
"Yup, that's the one. That was the song," I said lightly, forcing humour into my voice.
Brilliant, Elena. Absolutely brilliant. Push him away, then sing the most sensual song FU5E ever released right to his face. Genius.
He kept staring at me, as if I were some puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Desperate to change the subject, I blurted, "So, what's your process for writing music? Do you just hole yourself away for a few days, or does it just… come to you?"
His expression shifted from smouldering to pleased. Maybe he wasn't used to being asked about something real.
"I'll happily tell you," he said, "but let's stretch our legs. Walk a bit."
Odd. The room was large enough, but still - it wasn't that big. At least he didn't invite me somewhere private. I nodded, and we began strolling at a lazy pace.
Different partygoers acknowledged Darien, waving or greeting him. He inclined his head and smiled, but stayed by my side. I should probably feel flattered—it's not every day you get to hang out with a popular musician. I reflected on the surreal evening as he continued walking and greeting people.
I caught sight of Iah, deep in conversation—and flirting—with Raven. Ah yes, the one who started it all by sneaking in. She looked genuinely happy chatting with the keyboardist, and knowing Iah, she was certainly giving it her all.
Val, meanwhile, was cornered by Valda and looked miserable. Valda seemed deep in some story—probably gossip—from the way she kept glancing around, checking if anyone was listening. Val nodded occasionally, then offered one of her model-esque smiles—the kind she saves for photoshoots, or for people she doesn't actually like.
I really needed to rescue her at some point.
Darien noticed where my gaze lingered. He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "I pity your friend, babysitting my sister."
I snorted and quickly looked away so Val wouldn't see me laughing. "Val's used to handling 'these types' - but yes, we should probably save her soon."
He smirked and nodded.
Dare I say it - I liked him. When he wasn't being an egotistical peacock, anyway.
"Well?" I prompted.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"
"We're walking. Now you owe me an answer about your process," I reminded him.
He raked his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, and I couldn't help noticing how perfectly untamed it was. It reminded me of those old bands who's records my dad used to play - every member wild-haired and reckless-looking. When his hair fell back, I caught a glint of the unusual earring he wore: a dark crystal that shimmered blue in the light. I made a mental note to ask about it later.
We reached the back of the room, crates stacked high around us, and he finally answered.
"So, there are days I hole myself up and write like there's no tomorrow. Those are my worst days. I hate being a recluse, but… when I'm in that mode, nothing else exists. Everything else becomes dead to me. So music and lyrics take over."
I nodded. "I guess that gets kind of lonely after a while."
He stared ahead, thoughtful. "Yes and no. The process distracts me from the loneliness… but when your songs are about connections, relationships—people—it can also be a reminder of what's missing."
I blinked at that. I'd never thought of it that way—pouring yourself into art about connection while being completely isolated. It made his song Intothe Dusk feel even more tragic.
I understood, though. My own drawings could consume me until I forgot everyone and everything around me. "What about the good days? When you're not forced to become a poetic hermit?" I teased.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he side-eyed me. Heh, I take it he thinks I'm funny.
By then, we'd reached the very back of the room. Surrounded by crates, I realised – belatedly - that we were alone.
"I want to tell you something only a handful of people know," he said, glancing around as if to ensure privacy.
Intrigued, I nodded for him to continue. He settled onto some crates and pretended to hold a guitar, his gaze distant, far away.
"I like to sit on the stage here during the day, when the club's closed. One spotlight on me, everything else swallowed by darkness. My guitar in my hands, a notepad beside me. It's… peaceful. Just me, my music, and the void."
His expression softened, serene. This was clearly his sanctuary. I smiled up at him, strangely touched.
It made me think of my void - the dream void - but for me, especially after last night, I don't feel a sense of peace, I was afraid of seeing the dead figure and the stranger again. Will I ever make peace with this void now in my life? See the beautiful side of the darkness that he finds so peaceful. I was rather envious.
"That's actually kind of beautiful," I said. "I bet not many people would understand that kind of peace."
"You have no idea. My sister barged in today, ruined it completely." He rubbed his forehead, a little dramatically, if you asked me.
I made a sympathetic face trying to conceal my amusement.
"Knowing your sister, within five minutes of meeting her, I can totally believe that" I said with a grin.
"Then you know her pretty well," he chuckled, and I joined in.
He was easy to talk to. Too easy. For the first time in a while, I felt like I could just… be honest, without worrying he'd laugh or judge. Then his expression shifted, the mood sobered, and he rose to stand beside me.
"Tell me, honestly," he said, his voice low, "what did that lyric mean to you?"
We were standing side by side, both leaning against the wall, the stacked crates forming a little pocket of quiet away from the rest of the club. I hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor. It wasn't easy to put into words - but if anyone deserved honesty in that moment, strangely enough, it was him.
"Well, I told the truth earlier. It's about acceptance. For me… it feels like I'm always living under expectations. Be the perfect student. The perfect daughter. The perfect girlfriend." I exhaled on that last one, the weight of it sitting heavy in my chest.
I risked a glance at him, bracing for the smug I told you so. But it never came. He just nodded, his gaze fixed ahead, thoughtful.
"It's like you want those closest to you to see you as you are - and call that perfection."
"Exactly." The word slipped out almost too quickly, like a relief. "Everything's already been decided for me, but I'm not brave enough to say: this is me, warts and all. I don't want to study Business Admin. I want to keep some parts of myself private. I'm not some airbrushed doll. I've got a too-big nose, freckles, hair that kinks instead of waves…"
I caught myself mid-rant and winced. Brilliant. Ranting like a lunatic—way to kill whatever credibility I had. But instead of laughing, he simply handed me his glass. A silent gesture: here, breathe.
I sighed, took it, and swallowed a sip. The amber liquid burned my throat and jolted my brain back to the present. It felt good. I handed the glass back with a muttered, "Thanks. And… sorry."
"What for?" he asked lightly. "You've clearly been carrying that a long time. I'd guess you've never said any of that out loud - not even to your friends."
I looked at him again. He wasn't teasing. He wasn't mocking. He meant it. And for some reason that made me smile, small and shy, as I shook my head.
"They've had plenty to say about it, of course. I just… never agreed out loud."
That's when he turned to me, arm sliding up to rest against the wall above my head. His gaze searched mine, intense, almost too much. I froze. And then—his hand brushed my cheek. His thumb lingered, rubbing lightly, insistently.
"Wha—"
"Shhh." He hushed me with the faintest, soft smile. Devastatingly gentle.
"There they are," he murmured, brushing again. "Beautiful as stars, scattered like the night sky."
A shudder ran through me. My freckles. He'd cleared the faint mask of foundation, revealing the tiny specks and dots across my cheeks. My freckles - my imperfections - he treated like a revelation.
His head dipped closer, violet eyes burning into mine. Except they weren't just violet now—they glowed, lighter, with threads of silver swirling in his irises. My breath caught.
"What is it you desire, vixen?"
The words curled around me like smoke. The room faded, disappearing entirely. We were alone in nothing—a void made just for us. All I could see was him, those entrancing eyes drawing me in. His hand traced down my neck, the other sliding to my waist, pulling me closer until nothing separated us. My body froze - I couldn't move, couldn't look away.
"Elena," his voice softened, rich and dark, threading desire through every syllable. "Tell me… what do you truly want?"
Against every instinct, my hand lifted of its own accord, reaching toward his face. I ached to touch him, to feel his skin under mine. No, I should push him away. I should run. But a wicked whisper in my mind reminded me that it was just us in this void. Safe. I was safe—with him. My lips parted, the answer clawing its way out before I could stop it.
"More—"
"Get your fucking hands off my girlfriend, you son of a bitch!"