Backstage was supposed to be different. We were supposed to be able to walk up to the artist because we were friends—not be shoved behind in an imaginary line that knew no end. And here we were, bouncing on our feet and impatient, tiredness hanging upon us like dusted mist.

And the talk of the day did drop us a visit. Twice, actually. He'd hurried to us but had only spoken a maximum of five words to Xavier. Ciara had called him out, and he'd listened. Chloe had something to say, to which he'd laughed. I waited, in hopes that this was it, the finale of the night, and that he would return to us soon.

He never did. It did not help that he dropped me no glance. Not even once. I just wanted to talk, and yet—he ignored me as if I had committed a felony against him.

Perhaps there had been a million things running through his mind. I had to cut him some slack. He'd just performed, and his face was starting to show the exertion with the way his brows pulled and lips frowned. I gave him time, of course. On the second visit, he told Leo something. It was shorter than the brief time he'd spent with us before, barely a minute to justify if his presence was even real in close-up.

Then, the unthinkable happened. Alexander Parker, Evan's dad, stood in front of everything and everyone, poise overshadowing and voice ringing past people shuffling around him. He put a firm arm around his son's shoulder—one which visibly made the latter uncomfortable—and with baring teeth, he spoke, "We cannot end the night without celebrating my son's successful endeavours so far." Evan looked just as shocked as us. "Please join us for tonight's gathering, everyone. The night is still young."

"What's happening?" Chloe wondered aloud. "Evan seems unhappy."

I had no clue. And by the time Mr Parker had dismissed his abrupt address to the crowd, Xavier had taken a step forward. "I'm going to go talk," he motioned towards Evan, who was now leaning to the side as his father conversed with a man in a perfect tuxedo. When did these business-like people even get here?

Raymond sighed. "I was ready to go home, but I guess not."

"Don't be too sure," Stella drifted her eyes to the cynosure of the room. "I don't think we're invited. What would a bunch of kids do at their business-centred gathering, anyway?"

Unease lined at the seams, a suffocating layer above my skin. I wasn't exhausted out of my mind yet, but no part of me wanted to go to a "party" which would just make me feel dumber and poorer than the rest. I was sure all of us felt the same.

Xavier's head bopped between us all of a sudden, and I almost fell. "Jesus," I held a palm to my heart, but he'd already apologized. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. As for us...," he paused. "We're invited, but Evan says it's for us to decide if we want to go or not." From the corner of his eye, he dropped Evan another glance and then ran a hand through his hair. "I will be."

Mixed reactions floated in the air briefly. Leo seemed happy solely because he was starving and food was his only concern. Sean sighed but didn't utter a word. While Stella, Chloe and I just stared at each other, Raymond muttered: "I'm not that much of a terrible friend. I'll go simply so he knows he owns me at least three meals in the future."

Stella rolled her eyes. She looked at me, and I nodded. "Count us in, I guess."

Involuntarily, my head snapped back. It was inevitable. I had ignored the feeling of wanting to look over, to drift my attention to where he stood for so long, my brain's instinctual response was to check upon him. And he was staring right back.

I didn't drop my gaze. He did.

▂

THE FLOOR MOVED WITH THE VIVACITY I LACKED. Streams of blue, purple, green—a disastrous mix of technicolour—filled my vantage, travelling right to my head in the form of a slowly spreading ache. The venue was beyond sane: people glitzy and jewel-ridden, tables hefty with food I'd probably never consumed, dance floor slowly giving in to the madness and imprudence a bunch of youngsters had carried in with themselves. The night dimmed and dimmed and dimmed, the sky turning dark. Drums were played twenty feet away from where I stood, yet I swallowed their beats in my chest. The air was beyond senseless, seeping through the flimsy fabric of my dress and into my skin, making me tumble along with the ground.

Or perhaps that was just repercussions of an awry eye and awkward steps. And...alcohol—who in God's name left me with it again?

I knew no one. Stella could be spotted three feet away, holding up her hands in the air while she sang her heart out to a song that didn't even remain coherent to me. Chloe had disappeared somewhere, telling me to stay put while she returned. I was almost sure Sean went back to the car to sleep. Leo was also, probably, passed out, and Xavier and Raymond dealt with every hiccup that arose. I found myself slightly grateful, because despite everything being over the top, the rich stayed in their own bubble: one where music wasn't as loud and people weren't as mouthy—and us in our own, where music blared and youngsters had the time of their life swaying to the beats.

It was like a gathering had split factions. It was weird, yes. But not unimaginable, thinking how the venue knew no bounds, stretching to as far as the eye could see, and then even further.

Gratefulness was only slight, though. My feet were in pain. The music was entirely too loud. I couldn't walk up to the rich just for peace of mind. Neon lights were headache-inducing spawns of the Devil. My friends were nowhere to be found.

Evan Parker was off to entertain multiple people I couldn't even look in the eye.

He was standing many feet away, but it was still the closest he'd stood to me tonight. My eyes remained fixed. He had a blonde woman—one I could've spotted in some advertisement if I got a closer look—right at his arm. She looked twenty and laughed as Evan spoke like he was performing a well-practised skit to entice anybody present in the room.

Something bumped my elbow. My attention was a testimony to the state I was in, since I did not bat an eye.

"Someone's staring." I recognized the voice even when her words were muffled. Chloe. "I wonder what that's about."

I wonder what any of this is about, I thought, and then pulled my gaze back. "Where were you?"

"Checking up on the guys. Leo's passed out, you know?" She made a sound. I wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a groan. "What if he gets, like, abducted or something?"

"You think?" I removed my palm from beneath my chin, barely escaping banging my head on the surface of the table. My actions resembled that of cartoons—except if they had gotten rid of random frames in the middle. "The abductor would rather quit their job and become a farmer than deal with him."

The room spun. Momentarily, I was shaken, eyes widening. Then I drew my hands straight on the table, trying to touch my shoulder in feeble attempts. Chloe laughed, and then poked my arm. "Dude. What are you doing?"

I shrugged. "Thought I dislocated something." I did it again, the motion appearing more strenuous this time. "I can barely feel my feet...I want to go home...And I want to go home now."

"You're so drunk," she took away the glass right from my hand, twirled the contents once, and then shook her head. "What was Stella doing when you got inebriated out of your mind?"

"Probably flirting with some rich dude," I grinned wide, suddenly delighted. "I respect it, though. The journey to becoming a trophy wife is surely an arduous one."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Go talk to him."

"Hm?" I pursed my lips. "Who?"

"Very funny, Laura," she glared. "But I'd prefer if you two keep your business...private. And with the way you're looking at each other, it seems to me that that's the opposite of how it's going to go."

Words weren't clear. Nothing was. In the moment I tried to make sense of her face and what she was talking about, my feet had already landed on the ground with a thud. I balanced myself by propping my hands on the wood, coldness spreading through my palms.

Then it clicked. My mind hummed: ohhhh, and I started laughing. Hysterically.

"Very funny, Chloe," I hiccupped. "I'm going to get some fresh air now, if you don't mind."

Her face was passive, but barely. I could tell she was trying to hold in at least ten different types of emotions. I was drunk, and I was well-aware. But that didn't make me stupid enough to think that the guy who'd be ignoring me the whole day would suddenly want to do any sort of business with me. I was retracting our friendship contract the second he decided to pay me attention, anyway.

"Please don't," Chloe was genuinely concerned. It took me a while to understand what she was denying me of. "You are going to get abducted. I'll accompany you."

I shook my head, and got side-tracked by the pattern the lights made on the floor where people danced. It was a multitude of honeycomb-like reflections.

Chloe tilted her head, as if asking: Seriously?

I laughed. Everything seemed funny. And while I was deeming everything as comedy, the blonde girl across me had started staring right over my shoulder, mouth slightly ajar.

Even that was funny, so I laughed.

But when the being standing behind me spoke, it wasn't funny anymore.

"Hey, Chloe." The voice froze me to the spot. Of course I knew it too well. "Don't worry. I got her."

The smile that took over her features was sickening—like she'd won a lottery. I got a hold of her hand, eyes narrowed. "You're just going to leave? Am I not fun to be around?"

"She's plenty fun, isn't she?" He spoke again. I could feel his gaze burn a hole through my dress. "Go and find Stella. I'll have her sober up."

I had never seen Chloe run faster in her life.

Have me sober up? As if. I wasn't even going to talk to him. After all, I'd retracted the friendship contract—it was done and dusted. Not a word since yesterday, and not a drop of a glance throughout today. If that was the game he was to play after what he said, I was not willing to partake.

"Hello, drunken stranger."

I wasn't sure if it was the piqued-up adrenaline, alcohol, or the harsh winter air that made my feet bounce with a strange eagerness. When I swivelled back, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the sight. He wore the same white shirt tucked into a pair of pants, the very same rings on his fingers as he ran them through his hair, and yet, the seconds stuttered without my response.

Evan Parker held my gaze.

He seated himself next to the spot previously taken by me, ushering me to do the same. I shook my head. He pretended like I hadn't reacted the way I had, filled up a glass with water, and pushed it to my side. "Here."

"I'm not drunk."

He laughed. The want to replay the sound over and over rushed in strongly, deeming my prideful comment on being sober a fallacy.

Still, I never planned to oblige. I looked away, afraid to make eye contact for the briefest of time, simply because I didn't want to give in to the feeling of wanting to be by his side when he'd done nothing to earn it. But then he'd sighed, and I was forced to look up, only to find him smiling.

He smiled as if I was a treat to merely glance upon. As if I'd grown two heads, or something.

I hated how he looked at me. I hated how much I liked how he looked at me—as if I held secrets no one had dared to find before him. And there he was, taking his sweet time unravelling them, one at a time, savouring every second.

I flushed a bright red. With a huff, I chugged the water down, and then turned around so quick, my knees almost gave out. Evan muttered my name to caution me, but it was long drowned in the voices surrounding us as I strode away.

I just needed him to maintain the distance he had maintained all day. That, and open space. Anything would've worked—the smallest window, if it came to desperation—but I was met with something way better. A partially fastened terrace, one with just the right amount of shade so only a fraction of neon could slither in. And most importantly, it was devoid of a massive crowd.

This place was a spectacle I was starting to grow accustomed to. And whilst my feet trudged into the new-found territory, the steps behind me sped, and then halted.

The footfall was not unfamiliar. It was too quick a terrifying realisation how I'd known it was him. I just wasn't sure if he would follow me.

Of course, he had.

I only registered that his hand slid on my back as we walked further into the terrace, because I had to fight an initial reaction of both wanting to lean and withdraw. It was a constant with him, I understood—not knowing if going off the deep end was the calling or staying well above water stood the safest option.

I needed to stop tripping so he'd not dare step any closer. There were enough blurred lines between us, painted in grey what's and what not's.

Over my shoulder, I spoke: "Go back to where you're supposed to be."

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

I glared. "My bad. Go back to where you're needed."

I heard the smile through his reply. "You wound me, Edwards."

Momentarily, as his eyes stared into mine and mine into his, the party wilted.

I let my hand rest on the rail as we stepped out, moving to a place that did not vibrate with agonizing humming and the smell of food. He bobbed his head sideways, a singular glance at the party which now played in the background, and then looked back over to me.

No one said a word. There were two people except us on the terrace, who left soon after as the music shifted to something jazzy.

"You're awfully silent," he mused. "Making plans to cover up the rest of the syllabus in two days?"

"School is the last thing on my mind," I slid a quick peek towards him. School should've been my main focus, not something in the periphery. I was ashamed of how it didn't hold a fraction of my headspace, thoughts wholly orbiting around him.

Infatuation was so stupid. Infuriating. A waste of time and energy.

He was visibly taken aback by my response. Sober me would've been too. "It's the alcohol, yeah?"

It isn't liquor, I thought. It's you. And—hasn't it been you for a while?

I focused my gaze on the cityscape. The lights of the entire town thrummed like fireflies, bright and mixing with the noises of traffic and the hustle on the streets. The sky was a dark shade of blue, oddly comforting. When I did not reply, silence blanketed us again. Only this time, I did not have the patience to stomach it.

Don't speak unless spoken to, my brain chanted. Don't. But then—he grinned. He had grinned, noticing my obvious unease at the silence, and there wasn't a way that rule wasn't being broken. He was grinning with his whole chest.

"Evan." I hoped to root him on the spot with my glare. It seemed so simple when he did it, like it came second nature. I wanted to do the same. Have the same effect. "Why are you here?"

He frowned. It felt genuine, but did not dissipate any anger that accompanied my words. Alcohol was probably making it worse, but carefulness was buried somewhere deep. "Why not? Hasn't it been a while since we've spoken?"

I wonder why. I laughed. He raised an eyebrow, but I did not care. "You left without a word." The space between us was smaller than I remembered. I was scared, possibly terrified, because it felt as though I had willingly created it. Like I'd walked however many steps it took so my arms would be mere inches away and I'd have a clearer look into his eyes. "Yesterday. I don't even remember you coming back."

If he wasn't entirely confused before, he was now. He opened his mouth and then shut it, before looking at me softly. "Is this about me carrying you to bed?"

Dear God. "No!" I whispered exasperatedly. "Are you stupid? Do you think of me as stupid? Some days you hate me and some days you make me feel foolish and some days you...," I paused. Breathed. "You...are driving me insane."

"I do not hate you." He did not let a beat pass. "I've never hated you."

That was all he said.

The silence drew out. The air between us sandwiched, warm and unsettling. I forgot I was still looking at him with an intensity I never remembered carrying. His eyes were astray, though. Distracted. He looked conflicted, the muscles in his jaw bouncing.

Then he looked at me. And he stared as if he'd never done it properly before.

"You have a strange look in your eyes." He regained composure. The fleeting moment of unsurety had passed for him. For me, it stood tall like a wall—blocking every rationale.

It took me a while to make sense of him, of this place, of the words he'd said. As the air went from being unsettling to astronomically charged, the beats of my heart bounced between us, threatening to escape.

His eyes were ice when he took a step forward. My hands were fire when they pressed to his chest.

"Like what?" I mumbled. "What look do I have in my eyes?"

He leaned.

The step I took to retreat was faster than instinct. Faster than light. He wasn't done yet. Moonlight seeped between us and dripped off of him like liquid sin—ivory and highly flammable. Any moment, we'd be set to flames.

"You stare as if you want something," he said, voice double-edged. "Like you're expecting something out of me."

My mind raced. The floor moved, too soon and too quick and too hard. And—and: I was. I had always been, hadn't I? I wanted him to be outright and honest and open, to tell me exactly what this was and what we were so we stopped going in circles. To tell me exactly what those grins of his entailed and how often he passed them around and to whom, and what he meant yesterday and so many times when he'd left me wondering until no end. I wanted to be able to talk to him and not feel embarrassed not being able to, to know exactly what went through his head at times when he felt so unreadable. I wanted to know him better than anyone else, the littlest of details which even he couldn't seem to care about. I wanted everything.

I wanted to kiss him.

The space between us vanished. My arms balanced on his shoulders and he froze for a fraction of time, the floor twisting and turning and toppling over its axis. His hands ran over my back before landing on my waist, and the sensation was overwhelming and all-consuming and golden because oh, all was falling to place. We were falling to place, together, interlaced, drawn the closest we had ever been—and it felt entirely like a homecoming. Like returning to a place I had once, in another lifetime, called home.