"Are you drunk already?"

"No!" She pauses, giggling. "I've just had a few pre-drinks drinks, that's all."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. Brynn giggles some more as she holds out a bottle of God-knows-what towards him. He's far too anxious to be doing any pre-drinking; tonight he's using his fake ID for the first time. Brynn's girlfriend (yes, they're back together. Again.) specialises in them, so he can now go to the local bar, claiming he's a nineteen year old guy named Peter McDonnell. He thought it was pointless, considering he's eighteen in less than four months, but Brynn insisted.

They walk round the block together to the bar, which is a beacon of light against the dark night. Arthur swears under his breath at the sight of a bouncer at the door.

"Chill," Brynn says.

She waltzes to the bouncer, who glances for a split second at her ID then steps aside for her to pass.

Arthur wipes his sweaty palms on the sides of his skinny jeans then hands over his ID. Oh, he's so lame. The man, who is about four times as wide as Arthur, looks at it then passes it back.

"Have a good night, Peter," he says. Arthur senses some doubt in his voice, so he snatches the ID and scurries inside.

It's busy and loud with sound of chatter and music. Brynn takes Arthur's hand and drags him towards a small table where he recognises her girlfriend, Taylor.

"I'll get us some drinks," he tells them.

But it falls on deaf ears, as Brynn and Taylor are currently comitting an extreme public display of affection by kissing passionately.

He coughs awkwardly and, when they don't respond, heads to the bar.

♡

Arabella looks hot.

She knows that her little black dress hugs her figure in all the right places; her smokey makeup exentuates her dark eyes; her blood red lips automatically draw anyone's attention to them. Not to mention the fact her five inch heels make her feel slightly less tiny, even if her feet are already aching and the night has only just begun.

She hands the bouncer her fake ID with ease - compared to Arthur this is practically second nature to her. He gives it back, eyes glued to her chest.

"Gross," Arabella mutters, just audible.

She knew that she'd get attention in her current get up, but she'd hoped it wouldn't be from men who look at least double her age.

Rebecca grins when she sees Arabella and leaps up from the high stool at the edge of the bar. She pulls her into a quick embrace then gestures to the seat beside her.

"Joe's just getting a round of shots," she explains. "Tonight is going to be awesome!"

Arabella smiles and nods, slipping onto the stool. She drums her fingers against the bar to the beat of the pounding base that pulses from the overhead speakers. Joe returns a minute later, looking a little tipsy already.

"Arabella!" he exclaims in a drawl as his eyes skim down her body. "Lookin' fine!"

At this Rebecca fake scowls until Joe snakes his arms round her waist and begins drunkenly swaying to the music with her. They're both laughing, caught up in their own little world, and Arabella looks away. With couples as in love as those two, watching them feels like an intrusion.

On the bar in front of her are the three shot glasses containing a clear liquid. When it becomes clear the other two aren't available to drink them with her, she picks up one and sniffs it tentatively. Whatever kind of alcohol Joe's got them, it's strong.

Arabella shrugs and tips her head back to swallow it. It burns its way agonizingly slowly down her throat as she slams the now empty glass back onto the bar. She shakes her head, as though to rid herself of her disgusted facial expression.

"Ayy, looks like someone's out to get pissed!" Joe comments, chuckling.

He proceeds to pick up the remaining two shot glasses so that he and Rebecca can do a weird, arm twisted method of holding out the shots for them both to down them at the same time.

Arabella makes a face. Already, the alcohol is seeping into her system and making everything a little hazy round the edges. She glances to Rebecca and Joe, now practically grinding against each other. She's happy that they're happy - love's young dream, or whatever - but she can't help but feel like a major third wheel.

Still, if anyone knows how to deal with an awkward situation, it's Arabella Pannone. She stands up, wobbling slightly on her stilhetoes, then moves to where there's a slight crowd round the barman. The crowd almost entirely consists of men, so she breezes through. As much as she doesn't like to admit it, she can't deny enjoying the power she gets by wearing a short skirt.

"How can I help you?" asks the barman.

He's perhaps thirty, with something smarmy about him. Realising that she's left her purse on her seat next to her friends, Arabella leans forward against the bar.

"I'll have whatever you suggest," she says, dropping a him a wink.

The man grins and she ignores the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. He quickly pours out a shot of something that appears to be identical to what she'd kicked off the night with.

When he slides it across the bar to her, Arabella bites her lip. The barman pauses for a moment, during which Arabella starts twisting a strand of hair round her index finger and repeatedly reminding herself that after this shot, she won't be thinking straight enough to realise how much she hates herself for using her sexuality to her advantage like this.

He smiles at her, all slimey and gross. She smiles back, looking at him through heavily mascared lashes.

"I'll tell you what, all your drinks tonight are on the house, just don't tell anyone," he says, tapping the side of his nose and winking at her. "It'll be our little secret."

Arabella smiles and thanks him, forcing herself not to retort that she doesn't want to share a 'little secret' with him. She's getting free drinks for the night; she can hardly complain.

Shot glass in hand, she totters back towards Rebecca and Joe, grabbing her purse. They've now stopped dancing and are chatting loudly. Arabella notices Joe's hand resting on Rebecca's thigh, with her hand resting on top.

Arabella sighs. Tonight, she is pretty sure she could secure a selection of different people in the room if she tried, but instead she's hung up on a boy who's taken. A few feet from where she had been sitting is a booth whose occupants have just left. Feeling a little deflated, Arabella heads towards it and sits down. She drinks the shot; it is just as sharp and hard to stomach as the first time.

It acts like a slap in the face, though, and she looks round the room. It's hard to hold her gaze on just one person as they move and her eyes keep refocusing, like a camera lens.

I am not going to spend my night being uncomfortable and alone. I'm going to find myself a hot guy and, if nothing else, get drunk with him and make out for a while.

Just then, Joe approaches. "Hey, just letting you know Morgenstern's here; I was just talking to him at the bar. Thought you might be interested because... y'know."

Morgenstern? It takes a few moments for Arabella's intoxicated brain to figure out that he's referring to - Oh God - Arthur Morgenstern. Her Arthur. He's here.

Okay, so maybe I'm going to spend my night feeling a little bit uncomfortable and getting drunk whilst gazing dreamily at Arthur.

Then, an unwanted thought follows, Arthur is probably with Brynn. And they're probably doing all the same things that Rebecca and Joe have been doing all night.

Still, like a reflex, her eyes scan the room. At last she spots him, amongst a sea of faces. She thinks he sees her, at least he looks her way, before her vision is blocked.

A guy who looks barely old enough to be here himself is approaching her. He's undeniably attractive and the Arabella of five minutes ago would've been thrilled at his arrival into the scene. But, since gaining the information that Arthur is here, she doesn't feel quite that excited when he stops infront of her.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone, huh?" he says, lips curling into a smirk. Arabella returns the smile and he takes it as a sign to slither into the booth next to her. "I'm Carson, by the way."

"Arabella," she offers.

Carson nods, flashing his overly white, straight teeth. "Pretty name."

"Thanks."

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

Arabella shrugs, her usual defiance peeking up from under the covers. "Only with people I want to talk to."

"No way," Carson scoffs. "I can't believe I just got burned by such a pretty little girl."

She frowns. "Is 'pretty' the only adjective in your vocabulary, or something?"

Carson laughs and Arabella fights the sudden urge to punch him. It's the alcohol that's making her feel so agitated by him, she tells herself. So she lets herself relax a little.

"Hmm, maybe you're a fiesty one, too."

At this point she's certain that Carson has edged closer to her. She tries to ignore how suffocating it is. His hand is resting on the seat between them, the edges of his fingers just touching her thigh.

"So, Carson," she coughs quietly, stalling. "Tell me a bit about yourself."

Honestly, she couldn't care less about his life, but Carson launches into a monologue regardless. Arabella zones out, catching the odd word about soccer and college, whilst her eyes drift back in Arthur's direction. He's sitting awkwardly at a table with two girls who are all over each other. It appears that he's a third wheel too, only not dealing with it as well as she is.

Then again, looking at Carson who is still talking about himself, she wonders if she really dealt with the whole third wheel situation well, at all.

Suddenly, Arthur stands up. He begins striding in her direcion and she stiffens. Carson has stopped talking (at last) and is now watching Arabella watch Arthur.

"What's up, baby?" he asks, voice lacking in the tenderness that should accompany those words.

"I'm not your baby," Arabella replies sharply, shifting to the side in the booth, away from him.

"Aw, come on, lighten up," Carson starts.

"No, thanks," she says, but she's barely paying attention to him anymore. She's barely even breathing anymore.

Arthur has reached the edge of her table. He smiles at Arabella, then slips into the booth alongside her.

Her heart is jerking about in her chest and she feels slightly lightheaded. It's most definitely not the alcohol causing this reaction, not when Arthur puts an arm round her shoulder. She can sense his nervousness, as though it's coming from him in waves.

"Hi, Arabella... babe," Arthur says.

Then, as though he wants her to go into cardiac arrest, he kisses her softly and quickly on the cheek. Just a brush of lips against skin, but it's enough to send a shiver racing down Arabella's spine.

She manages to tear her eyes from Arthur to glance at Carson. His expression is a mixture of appalled and confused. The confusion is mutual, Arabella thinks.

"Who's this?" Carson asks Arabella.

Thankfully, Arthur speaks up before she gets the chance. "I'm her boyfriend. Who the hell are you?"

Arthur sounds surprisingly convincing, so much so that Carson begins to edge his way out of the booth.

"I'm... just leaving," he says, before scurrying off and disappearing into the crowds of people.

Once he's out of sught Arabella exhales heavily and turns to Arthur, who instantly removes his arm from her shoulder. She tries not to think of how she feels like she's missing something without his touch.

"What was that?"

"You clearly didn't want to speak to that guy so I got him off your back," Arthur explains, his face an unreadable mask.

"What, you think I can't deal with him myself?" she questions.

She's not sure why she's angry; Arthur did do her a favour by getting Carson away.

"No, I'm sure you can do it by yourself just fine." A small, shy smile creeps onto his face. "Plus, I kind of wanted an excuse to come over and talk to you."

At this, Arabella softens. "Uh huh?"

Arthur shrugs, bashful. He rakes his fingers, long and elegant but calloused, through his dirty blond hair.

"Have you been avoiding me?" His voice is quiet, unsure.

Something swells inside Arabella's chest; she swallows hard.

"I didn't, well, want to make things bad between you and Brynn," she admits, eyes skittering everywhere but his face.

"Wait, what?"

Arabella sighs in frustration. "If I were dating someone and another girl kept lingering at the side I'd be mad. Girls are supposed to stick together, so if that means I have to stay away from you for Brynn, I will."

Even as the words come out her mouth, Arabella wishes she could snatch them back. She's practically declaring her hopeless crush on him. She waits for Arthur to respond, staring at him as he bites his lip for an agonisingly long time.

Then, to her complete surprise, he bursts out laughing. His face scrunches up and crinkles appear round his eyes and Arabella can barely register how cute he looks in her confusion.

"You thought... Brynn and me... oh my God!" Arthur says, barely getting his words out through his hysterics. He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to compose himself. "Did you honestly think that I was dating Brynn?"

If Arabella was the type of person to blush, she would be right now. Instead, she glares defiantly at Arthur.

"Excuse me, how was I not supposed to see 'I love you!' and 'I love you more!' as romantic?"

"She's my best friend!" Arthur protests, remnants of laughter still in his voice. "I've known her all my life; we grew up together."

Arabella raises an eyebrow, still suspicious. Somehow, despite all her self confidence, she fails to understand how someone like Arthur could be into someone like her, with no obstacles.

"That sounds a lot like the intro to a cliché friends-to-lovers romance novel to me."

"Oh," Arthur adds, as an afterthought. "And she's gay. Honestly, if she wasn't taken she probably would have already hit on you."

He gestures to where he had been sat previously and Arabella's eyes follow. Now that her sight is not consumed by Arthur, she can focus on the two girls who have finally stopped making out. Although she has her back to them, Arabella can clearly tell one of them is Brynn. An impossible wave of relief rushes over her.

"Oh... so, you're single then?" she asks tentatively, avoiding eye contact.

"I've always been single - unless you count this girl when I was thirteen who I 'dated' for a whole two weeks," Arthur replies.

"I'm surprised," Arabella says.

In her head, she's repeating the same words over and over: Arthur is single, Arthur is single.

"Yeah, well," he hesitates, somehow slipping back into his shell. Arabella wants to grab him by his collar and pull him out, towards her. "I think girls always wait for me to make the first move... and then I don't."

Please, Arabella thinks, Do it now. Make the first move. Ask me out. Kiss me. Do something.

Perhaps, if Arthur could hear Arabella's internal voice he would have asked her out, and she would have said yes, and that would have been it. But the course of true love never did run smooth, so the words die in his throat.

He settles for a simple "Do you want to get out of here?" and in response Arabella stands, wobbling in her heels, and heads for the door.

♡

The air is cold and crisp; it bites at Arabella's exposed skin. She shivers, running her hands up and down her arms. Arthur notices and shrugs his jacket off, somewhat awkwardly. He holds it out to her with a small smile.

"You look cold," he says.

Arabella's lips twitch upwards and she glances to her feet then back to Arthur.

"Are you sure? You're not gonna be cold?"

"Nah, I'll be freezing," Arthur jokes. "It's just that I'd rather I'm cold than you."

Arabella shrugs and puts the jacket on. It swamps her, almost reaching her knees. She looks undeniably adorable; despite the dark lipstick that's strayed slightly around her mouth and the rings of black eye makeup. He feels a fluttering in his chest and looks away.

They walk side by side for a couple of minutes, wrapped in a sort of in-between quiet, the kind that could easily tip either way to awkward or comfortable. When Arabella stops and grabs onto Arthur's arm, apparently not even thinking about it, while she takes off her shoes, the silence changes. Homely, Arthur thinks, and peaceful.

"God, that feels so good," Arabella groans. Her heels now swing in her left hand and her bare feet tread lightly on the tarmac road. "Those shoes were such a big mistake."

Her words slip on the way out, lapping over each other like waves. Meanwhile, listening to her babble absently about shoes, Arthur feels himself slipping deeper for her.

Possibly because he's by far the more sober of the two - in the end he only had half a beer - Arthur quickly realises that they're wandering aimlessly. Then again, this is Arabella and perhaps she's doing it on purpose. He opens his mouth to say something when she suddenly declares that she wants donuts. He winces at how loud her voice is against the still night.

"There's a convenience store on the next corner," Arthur says. "We could try there."

Arabella gazes at him for a moment, wonder etched into her expression. "Well done, Arthur. You're really smart, aren't you?"

He chuckles, glancing down to his shoes as he scuffs his toes against the pavement. "What makes you say that, Arabella?"

When she replies that he somehow knew where there was a shop, he doesn't tell her it's because they've already passed it twice in the past fifteen minutes. Instead, he takes her hand and pulls her unsteadily towards the shop.

They emerge five minutes later with a box of four donuts and giggling like school children.

♡

Whoever came up with the idea that time flies when you're having fun wasn't wrong; it feels like only a couple of minutes have passed before Arabella's phone is flashing with messages from Rebecca.

She groans and holds up the screen to Arthur. "Ugh, I'm staying over at Becca's and she's headed home now, so I should go."

"Yeah, it's getting pretty late - well, early - I better head back now," Arthur replies awkwardly.

"Thanks for your jacket," Arabella says as she shrugs it off and passes it back. Arthur tries not to notice how it now smells like her perfume. "And the donuts."

"You're welcome," he answers.

They both know that now is when they exchange numbers and arrange to meet up again, but of course this is Arthur and Arabella we're talking about, so that's never going to happen so easily.

"I'll see you around, I guess," she offers, leaving the end of her sentence open hopefully.

Arthur nods and coughs and blushes all at once. Suddenly a block has appeared that prevents him from saying the words he so badly wants to. "Yeah, see you around."

And then Rebecca's calling for Arabella from a taxi cab that's pulled up beside them, and she's getting in and waving goodbye, and it's over.

For now, at least.