The club doors shut open and close. People entered.
Light flashed in broken colors. Red, blue, and violet cutting the dim light inside the club. The bass thumped low and heavy, crawling through Jungtae's chest, here they are again. In front of the club Owen had brought him the other day.
Owen's hand was locked around his wrist again.
"Come on," Owen said, already pulling him forward.
Jungtae stumbled once before finding his balance. His shoes stuck to the floor for a second, the smell of spilled alcohol clinging to the air.
He hated how crowded it was. Hated how close bodies pressed together. Hated how loud everything felt, like his thoughts were being shaken loose.
They reached a couch pushed against the wall, half-hidden in shadow. Three of Owen's friends were already there again. Laughing, shouting over the music, glasses raised high.
"Owen!" one of them yelled. "You're late!"
