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The club is too full, too loud.
The sound of the bass is hammering through the floor, like a slow, thunderous pulse rattling up Alex’s legs and lodging somewhere deep behind his ribs. The air is thick with body heat and body spray, while neon strobe lights are flickering left and right overhead, painting the crowd in fast-moving snapshots.
The club is packed, and all the bodies on the dance floor are moving like one amorphous creature in a beat-heavy trance, dancing as if their lives depend on it.
But Alex isn’t dancing.
Instead, Alex is leaning against the bar, elbow propped on its sticky surface, while holding a glass of whiskey he hasn’t touched.
He came here with a date—Miguel or Manuel or something equally bland—a friend-of-a-friend situation that felt like a good idea until about fifteen minutes ago. Now, Miguel-or-Manuel is somewhere near the dance floor, already sloppy with plenty of liquor, yelling compliments at strangers and laughing too loudly at things no one else finds funny.
Alex has been watching him for a while. Not out of interest, but more like an exercise of detachment—an almost-scientific curiosity at how quickly someone like him can turn into a bad decision.
They had their date, the first part of it at least. A dinner and a walk, and it was fine. Not bad, not great, just fine.
And Alex can do fine for a night. He doesn’t want a relationship—doesn’t need one. And if Nora hadn’t insisted on setting him up with her assistant’s brother, he would’ve probably been at home, on his couch, watching Star Wars and eating a couple of tacos, before promptly falling asleep.
It doesn’t sound as lame as Nora made it out to be.
But it’s true he hasn’t been on a date in a while, so he relented and said yes to this date.
He’ll make Nora pay for it, though.
The club wasn’t part of the initial plan, but Miguel-or-Manuel insisted. And Alex thought he might as well go with the flow and stop being such a wuss, as Nora put it. They had a pretty ok conversation over dinner, and the walk to the club was also nice, but as soon as they entered ‘Electric Eden’, his date went straight to the bar, ordered four shots and proceeded to drink three of them. He then got caught up talking to a bartender, ignoring Alex. And when he suddenly turned to him, suggesting they go dance, Alex refused—but the man just shrugged and went ahead anyway.
So yeah, Alex is sitting alone at the bar, back turned to that bartender and letting his gaze slide from his full glass of amber liquid to the slick back of Miguel-or-Manuel’s head.
Whatever his name is, he’s having the time of his life in the middle of the dance floor.
Alex sighs, rolling his shoulders, and is just about to finally down his drink when someone else catches his eye, just at the edge of the dance floor, a few feet away from the bar.
The man is tall and blond, and his pale skin seems flushed under the flickering club lights. He has a softness to him. Maybe it’s the way the pink and blue strobe lights dance around his head, or the fact that his golden hair pops in contrast to his dark surroundings, but Alex can’t stop looking in his direction.
He’s standing close to another man—a brunette with sharp angles and cold eyes, dressed like someone who maybe likes to iron his jeans. It's becoming clear they’re in the middle of an argument. The taller one—beautiful in a quiet, delicate sort of way—looks like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. His jaw is tight, and his hands are clenched in fists, hanging on the side of his body.
Alex can’t hear their conversation over the music, but he watches it unfold like a muted scene from a movie. It’s clear they are having a heated argument, and the blonde is trying his hardest not to let his emotions get the best of him.
But Alex can see his face, how the softness he carries gets bruised by the words the other man throws at him.
Then the other man leans in, says something directly into the blonde’s ear, something that makes him flinch, that makes him bite his lip and shake his head and gesture dismissively.
What initially looked like an argument now seems to have become a breakup, with Alex the sole witness who paid attention to the event unfolding under the neon lights. The brunette man is now walking away, deeper into the dancing crowd, not even looking back.
And just like that, the blond man is left standing there, blinking his eyes and letting his breath run ragged, looking like he doesn’t know how he managed to end up in that place, in that moment, alone. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes for a second, trying to blink back whatever’s building there before straightening and turning toward the toilets at the end of the bar.
Alex saw it all. Doesn’t know why he’s still staring in that direction, but it all just feels familiar—being left, abandoned, not being good enough to keep someone close and interested.
Then he turns his gaze towards the other side of the crowd, where Miguel-or-Manuel stumbles up beside a stranger, giggles something unintelligible in his ear, and presses a messy kiss to the stranger’s mouth like Alex didn’t even exist.
It wasn’t the best of dates; Alex can admit that. But still—if Alex couldn’t even keep the guy interested enough not to go kiss other people while technically on said date, what’s even the purpose of trying any more?
Alex watches on as the kiss unfolds, and he feels the sting of it, not in his chest, but in his pride. It’s ridiculous, really—how little it takes to feel discarded. He steps back, shakes his head, and leaves the drink behind.
He doesn’t know why he moves.
He just knows he has to.
It hits him in the sternum how fast a moment like that can unravel.
The way people can choose to walk away while the club music keeps playing as if nothing of importance has happened. The way he stands still at the bar, watching his date kiss another guy. The way this stranger tries to steel himself and not let his real emotions show. Alex watches the stranger come closer and sees a brief flicker of something raw pass over his features.
He knows that look.
It’s the one you get when you’re determined not to break in public, the face you put on when you're hoping no one noticed your whole night just fell apart, and you hope to get away with one more drink before allowing yourself to break down and cry.
He feels something twist in his chest—empathy, maybe, or the feeling of understanding. At the end of the day, he feels abandoned too. For a second, he forgets where he is, forgets the club, and forgets the failed date. All he can focus on is the way the blonde guy is getting closer and seems to be folding inward, like if he could shrink himself small enough, maybe he’d just disappear.
He finds the blond man in the hallway near the toilets, leaning against the wall by a peeling "Staff Only" sign, a flickering fluorescent bulb blinking over his head. It makes the whole area feel like a liminal space, halfway between a fading memory and a lucid dream.
Alex approaches slowly, hands in his pockets. His heart's thudding like it’s trying to warn him away, but he is set on ignoring it. There's something magnetic about the man—like gravity decided to bend sideways for a minute and steer Alex on a direct path towards him.
"Hey. Sorry." Alex says determinedly but softly.
The man turns towards him, startled. His eyes are red-rimmed and wide, caught somewhere between heartbreak and embarrassment. He stiffens like he’s bracing for some kind of confrontation.
"Do I know you?" he asks, voice sharp with confusion.
Alex shakes his head. "No. But I saw what happened out there with—well, your lover left you. Broke up tonight."
The man looks down, ashamed of the revelation. He’s about to say something, mouth half open, but probably too dry to form the right words. He’ll probably ask Alex to leave, but he can’t have that. So he continues talking.
“My date, he—” Alex stops and takes a deep breath. “—he’s busy, kissin’ other guys, so…”
The man looks up towards Alex, tears in his eyes.
“I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do but—seeing as we’re both lonely, I thought you could—” Alex pauses, voice suddenly trembling. He brings one of his hands out of his pocket. He feels the need to place it on the blonde’s shoulder. Let it rest there and offer some comfort. But he knows it might be too much. So he lets his hand go through his hair instead, pushing back his curls and bracing for impact. “—join me for the night.”
“What?” The man asks, shock in his voice. He looks at Alex like he’s lost his mind. Alex can almost hear the thoughts flickering behind his eyes: ‘Why would I? Why you? Why now?’
“Dance with me so we don’t cry,” Alex adds quickly.
“Is this a joke to you?” the blonde man asks, turning fully towards him.
“No, no, fuck no. I’m sorry, I just…well, I felt like you shouldn’t be alone, and I don’t want to be alone, and I know it sounds dumb, and you don’t even know me. Fuck! I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Alex—” he says, barely catching his breath after spilling out so many words pushed out by panic.
His hand is now stretched forward towards the blonde man—a sign of peace, a promise of truthfulness, and a hope that he hasn’t fumbled this and made an absolute fool of himself.
And just as Alex thinks the man in front of him will just walk away, turn and disappear into the crowd, the man actually pushes himself from the wall and takes a step towards Alex, shaking his hand.
“Henry,” he says, and his hand is soft and warm. It’s not a tight grip, but he doesn’t let go of Alex’s hand. Instead he places his other one on top of Alex’s, gently squeezing, and he says, “Breathe, Alex. It’s ok.”
Alex nods and inhales deeply, letting Henry’s touch calm his mind, his fluttering heart. Alex lets his thumb graze gently over Henry’s hand and steps forward. Softer, his voice is like an offering.
"Just one song," he says. "Dance with me."
Henry doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t pull his hands back either.
“I know I sound crazy. I honestly don’t know what came over me,” Alex says. “I don’t want to sound like a creep, and if I do and you just want to leave, I won’t stop you, but I just—” He stops, looking down at their still-connected hands. Henry’s now subtly massaging his, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, like he’s maybe trying to console himself instead of Alex. “I just knew I needed to come find you. I—I don’t know, it sounds stupid, but it’s like I just needed to tell you to forget that guy.”
“And will you forget about your date?” Henry asks.
“Well yeah, I kinda did already. I mean, it’s our first date and he’s already moved on, so—”
“Who even does that?” Henry asks.
Alex shrugs and lets his gaze fall to their shoes. “I don’t know, I—I can be too much at times, and—”
“Too much is to get angry with your boyfriend because he doesn’t agree to having an open relationship after you’ve been together for over half a year.”
“Oh, that’s not…” Alex says as he looks Henry in the eyes—a mix of anger but also a sense of relief written behind his blue eyes. “So that’s what happened, huh?”
“Precisely. It’s not like we already loved each other, but—”
“That guy doesn’t know love. Forget about him,” Alex says with a conviction that surprises him too.
And even more surprising is the fact that they’re still holding hands.
“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get back out there. We’ll be alright.”
There’s a crinkle around Henry’s eyes and a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips, and Alex is looking at his lips and he really had no intention of flirting with the man or making a move, but they look so soft and pink and there’s a small mole at the top of Henry’s lip and Alex starts wondering how it would feel to let his own lips rest on that same spot.
And there’s something soft in Henry’s eyes as he replies. Maybe it was the honesty in Alex’s voice, or maybe it’s the simple fact that neither one of them wants to be alone in this place full of people.
"Okay." Henry says and starts moving back towards the middle of the bar, heading in the direction of the dance floor, Alex’s hand still in his.
They make their way through a few rows of people, the loud music enveloping their senses. The strobe lights are still sharp and the bass is relentless, but they manage to find a pocket of space where they stop, space enough to not be shoved into each other, but still close enough to feel the heat bounce off of the other’s body.
The world shrinks as the music starts to shift—slower, thick with a deeper synth and a honeyed longing. Something with retro roots but modern, like an old love song that never quite resolved, a chorus that guides them to the beat. The bodies around them start to move like a well-oiled machine, everybody swaying side to side. The crowd grows tighter and Alex can feel Henry’s hesitation, his body stiffening with every elbow that threatens to touch his ribs. Alex finds them a small space near the edge of the crowd, a place where it’s quieter, empty—where no one is paying attention.
They’re no longer holding hands, just swaying side to side, moving to the beat surrounding them.
Close but weary.
Their bodies eventually find a common rhythm, like they’re stars drawn into each other’s orbit, going round and round until they’re aligned on the same path. Alex watches the way Henry’s eyes often fall to the floor and how his breathing is shallow—like he’s afraid of being fully seen, of fully letting go.
The neon lights play across his face in streaks of violet and rose. Henry’s eyes are suddenly closed and his face is held up towards the ceiling. His body starts to relax and his shoulders seem to release the weight they were holding.
And for a moment Alex just watches—how the sadness in Henry’s posture fades away, letting go of sour memories and inviting in sweet music. Alex mirrors him gently, unsure but open, trying not to push too close, too fast.
Eventually, Alex steps in, closing the space between them. Places a hand lightly on Henry’s waist and looks up at him, hoping it’s not too much. But Henry doesn’t open his eyes.
He doesn’t push Alex aside either.
Instead, he takes a final step forward and lets his arms slide over Alex’s shoulders. He slowly lets his head fall back forward, opening his eyes and letting their gazes lock.
There are no words. No other distractions. Just music flowing over their shared hurt and the fragile peace of the shared silence between them.
They dance. One song, one promise, one tiny rebellion against the people who left them behind.
Alex lets himself feel the warmth of another person without expectation. The brush of Henry’s sleeve on the nape of his neck, then the brush of his fingers, slowly moving upwards, carding through his hair. He leans forward, letting his body be guided by the music and he is suddenly enveloped by the subtle scent of grass and something clean. In that sea of people, he’s being held in a bubble inside Henry’s arms and he’s never felt more safe, more calm. More wanted.
He imagines what this moment would look like from far away—two strangers, lost and glowing in the dark. What would their former partners think if they saw them dancing? Would they even care? Should Alex and Henry care? Or should they just let go of all their fears and see where the night takes them?
When the song ends, they don’t step away from each other.
Henry exhales like he hasn’t taken a breath in hours.
"Thank you," he says, but his arms are still around Alex’s neck. And Alex’s hands are still squeezing Henry’s side, fingers pressed in the dip of his waist.
He offers a smile, shy and reserved—knowing full well that he offered Henry one dance and he could now walk away. Forever.
"Anytime, Hen.” Alex replies, looking Henry in the eyes, trying to read the story behind them. “Or, you know... this time. Again. If you want another one."
Henry huffs a quiet laugh and nods.
"Yes. I’d like that."
They let the music guide their bodies, slipping through a deeper bass and a sharper rhythm, but they stick together, never letting go. They relax into their bodies and hold each other closer. After a while, the songs blend one into the other, becoming a continuous cacophony of sounds.
They never stop or hesitate; they don’t ask again if they should dance together for one more song. They just let their bodies move to the music.
Eventually, they do slow down and Henry lets his hands fall along Alex’s arms. As he reaches his hands, Alex lets their fingers intertwine.
“Do you want to take a break?” Alex asks. He’s had more than one dance, more than he asked of Henry. They could part ways now and he’d have nothing to complain about. This night turned out to be better than it started, and the reason for that is standing right in front of him, holding his hands.
“Erm, yes.” Henry says gingerly. “I’m actually kind of hungry,” he says.
“How do you feel about tacos?” Alex asks, a grin spreading wide on his face. “I’ve been craving some all day and I know just the place. Unless you want to just go.”
“No, that just shall not do. And dream about tacos all night?”
“Ok then,” Alex beams. “Let’s go!”
They walk out together, still holding hands without even noticing.
Outside, the air is chilly and wet, with the scent of recent rain still hanging on by a thread. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the slick sidewalk, and the bass from the club is just a faded thud now, like a heartbeat behind a brick wall.
They don’t talk at first, just walk in the direction Alex leads them to. It’s not an awkward silence—it’s a quiet that lets them settle into the moment. Alex finds himself taking deeper breaths, just as Henry rubs his arm, the chill of the air seeps through his thin shirt. Alex shrugs off his jacket and offers it without thinking. Henry blinks back at him, surprised.
"You’re too kind," he says softly.
"The perks of having Mexican blood,” Alex says with a wink.
They walk until they reach the edge of a small park. It’s mostly empty at this hour, quiet except for the sound of trees rustling overhead and the distant hum of nighttime traffic passing by. They follow a curved path on the side of the park until a flickering neon sign pulls Alex’s gaze from a beat-up van parked under an oak tree.
"We’re here," Alex says.
“Thank heavens, I’m starving.”
They order four overly greasy tacos and sit on a bench, knees brushing as they unwrap the foil. Henry eats like he hasn’t had a meal all day, while Alex watches the way his face softens with each bite.
"Thih-ih-amazih," Henry says, mouth too full, bursting with flavor.
"Told you," Alex grins, not even touching his food, too entranced with the way Henry is enjoying his.
They sit in the warmth of their shared quiet and too-spicy salsa until they both eventually finish their meal.
Henry licks his fingers clean and glances down the block, saying, "My favorite bookstore is just around the corner. It has a coffee shop attached. I usually spend hours there, writing."
Alex perks up.
"No way! I live two streets over that way,” he says, pointing in the opposite direction. “I go there sometimes, especially after I finish my run through the park."
"Really?" Henry asks, his eyes shining with delight.
Alex smiles, feeling something like serendipity stir in his chest. "Maybe we could meet there tomorrow? Not—not for—," he adds quickly. "Just—you know? Just a coffee? More talking?”
Henry’s eyes search Alex’s face and he lets the moment settle around them before he smiles and nods for the second time that night.
"Yes. I’d quite like that."
Alex smiles back at him and leans further into Henry’s shoulders. They sit on the bench, letting the night stretch out quietly before them. A night full of promise.
Maybe a new beginning.
Maybe something more.