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The club is packed, and hot, and loud, and Angela really wishes she’d never agreed to come out tonight. Or any night, ever. She doesn’t even know what the name of the club is, or what it’s for, all she knows is that she’s here because Jesse, bless his misguided heart, thought she needed a night out after a week of exam stress.
He’d been relentless on the matter for a solid week. It seemed every waking moment he was there, trying to get her to come out.
“It’ll be fun, Ange’.”
“Booze, Ange’!”
“There’s gonna be a lot of hot people there Ange’!”
Then on Thursday evening, finally reaching the end of her rope, she’d snapped an “okay” at him, hoping that he’d finally let her get back to her reading. It wasn’t until the next morning the feeling of dread settled in her stomach when she remembered what exactly she’d agreed to.
But it wouldn’t be fair to Jesse to go back on her word now, even knowing he’d probably ditch her for the first hot guy that walked past. So she sucked it up, threw on the first clean articles of clothing she’d pulled from her wardrobe, an open blue flannel over the white t-shirt she’d been wearing earlier that day, and jeans. She slapped on the minimum required amount of makeup, and for the first time in a long time, went out to a club.
She swears she can feel the bass vibrate her very bones from the speakers dotted throughout the room, though she doesn’t know the song, and doesn’t particularly care to. She checks her watch for what is possibly the hundredth time, to find that she’s only been here an hour, which can’t possibly be true because she’s pretty sure that’s exactly what her watch had told her the last time she’d checked it.
She sighs, barely audible to even herself over the clamour as she rises to go get another Piña Colada. This is going to be a long night. On her journey to the bar, she passes Jesse, who doesn’t even see her because he’s caught up making out with some...Asian man. The guy is wearing a tight blue t-shirt that reveals a wicked tattoo up his arm, and Angela can’t even be mad at Jesse for abandoning her, because, really, tattoos .
She finally reaches the bar after ploughing her way through the sea of bodies, only to find there’s two people having a conversation right in front of the barkeep, and holy shit if there was one thing Angela didn’t need tonight it was her alcohol denied. Scowling, she clears her throat as loudly as possible, hoping to catch the attention of the girl in the way that had her back to her. But of course she can’t hear her over the din, and Angela sighs in frustration. She tries a new tactic, which amounts to simply grabbing the girl’s arm to shove her out of the way, which might have been a mistake, because only now can Angela feel this girl’s bicep, and she is seriously ripped and…
She turns to face Angela, and it’s Lena’s friend, Fareeha. The girl immediately stiffens and her expression becomes schooled into one of complete neutrality upon recognising Angela.
“Hello, Angela,” she says, and it’s less of a greeting and more of a statement. But Angela doesn’t care. She just wants her drink.
The person whom Fareeha was talking to pokes their head out from behind her. It’s Lena.
“Heya luv,” Lena chirps, “didn’t expect to see you ‘ere.”
Angela’s scowl melts away upon seeing the Brit. She still considers Lena, as…. energetic as she is at times, a friend.
Fareeha’s still standing between them, stiff as a board. She clears her throat awkwardly.
“Yes, well, I think I see, uh, Hana over there. So I’m going to go. Talk to her now. Bye,” she declares, before making a beeline for the blob of people on the dancefloor. Angela stares after her, slightly dumbstruck, but Lena’s laugh snaps her out of it.
“Yeah, that’s Pharah for ya. She’s the sweetest thing y’know? ‘Cept around pretty girls, funny ‘nuff, seems to totally shut down ‘round them!” she says, still chuckling as she gestures to the barkeep to replace both of their empty glasses, and she winks at Angela who is only starting to realise what it was exactly that Lena said.
“I- what? Lena I thought she hated me,” Angela confesses as she feels her face start to warm, but whether it’s from the alcohol or the new information Lena’s gifted her she’s really not sure. Lena raises a brow, still smirking.
“Aw no! I remember in freshman year there was this girl, alright lookin’ I suppose, in our intro to philosophy class. She was in our tutorial group too, an’ anytime she and ‘reeha were paired up together, poor girl ended up doin’ most of the work herself ‘cause ‘reeha couldn’t even say two words to ‘er!”
Angela laughs and chats some more with Lena, refilling her cup again as her throat starts to ache from yelling over the noise, but they eventually part ways. Angela looks across the room again, half-looking for Jesse, and she thinks she spots him pushing his way to the club’s exit, trailing behind the man with the tattoo she saw earlier. She gives his retreating form a knowing smirk, even though he can’t see her. Typical Jesse, forcing her to come out then running off, abandoning her.
She walks, or sways, toward the nearest booth with space. She plops herself down across from the only other occupants, who are currently too engaged with each other to even notice her. Fine by her. She takes a gulp of her drink, a lot faster than she really should have, because she coughs when she feels the sickly sweet burn of the rum and pineapple in her throat. She takes another brief glance at the couple sharing the booth. Two women. She wonders if Jesse brought her to a gay bar. She really wouldn’t be surprised.
She wonders if it was all part of some elaborate scheme of his. Get her tipsy at a club and have her hook up with someone for a night. Lord knows, he’d certainly been giving her plenty of “subtle” reminders of just how long it’s been since She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and how much she really needs to get the stick out of her ass and get laid. She knows he’s only saying it because he’s concerned, but really she’s fine. She’s fine. Drinking cocktails at a gay bar alone doesn’t mean she’s not okay.
In an effort to keep the acknowledgement of just how not fine she actually is at bay, she scopes out the room. There’s the usual crowds of people dancing, if one could call that dancing, but there’s also a lot of people around the edges, some looking distinctly uncomfortable, others looking rather...predatory. She frowns, and follows the gaze of one man in particular. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s leaning against the far wall. There’s no haze in his eye that comes with drinking, his vision is clear, his gaze sharp. He looks hungrily at a crowd of young girls, but his eyes skim along the crowds until they settle on a spot to Angela’s left. He skirts along the outside of the crowd, making his way over, and Angela freezes when she see to whom he’s heading.
Fareeha’s standing alone, nursing a small, clear glass of something brown. She’s focused on her drink, and doesn’t see him approaching.
Angela gets up from her spot, grabbing what’s left of her drink and makes her way over. He’s reached Fareeha before Angela, and seems to be trying to engage in small talk, but Fareeha’s looking distinctly uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact.
“You sure I can’t get you a drink?” He presses, moving closer to her and propping an arm against the wall over her head.
“Absolutely. I told you, I’m waiting for my-”
“Hey!” Angela shouts before she can think about what she’s doing as she approaches them, cutting off their conversation. Fareeha for her part looks at her oddly, before her expression is replaced with one of relief. When Angela reaches them, she places a hand on Fareeha’s arm and smiles sickly sweet at the man, “thanks for looking after my friend while I was getting another drink. Fareeha, can we step outside for a moment? I’m dying in here.”
Fareeha nods wordlessly and leads them out. Angela is sure to send him a dagger-filled glare as they exit.
They head out the back, to a beer garden Angela didn’t even know existed. It’s quieter here, and cooler. Angela hadn’t been lying when she said it was far too warm inside. They find an unoccupied table that’s covered in empty used glasses, but a server comes by shortly after to clear it up. There’s only a few people milling around out here, most of them for a smoke, and Angela notices as Fareeha makes a face at them. She laughs lightly at her expression and Fareeha looks at her, embarrassed at having been caught.
“Not a fan of smoking?”
“No,” she grunts, “you only get one body, but by the time some smokers realise that, it’s already too late,” she elaborates, her tone bitter and she takes another drink. Angela wonders if there’s a story behind that, but doesn’t push it. Fareeha clears her throat and sets her glass down on the table. “Thanks for the save, by the way.”
Angela shrugs good-naturedly. This is quite possibly the longest they’ve ever been in each other’s presence without Fareeha attempting to dart off.
“I’m sure you could’ve handled him yourself, I just sped up the process.”
“All the same…” she trails off, frowning. She follows Angela’s hand as the blonde takes a sip from her own drink. “What’s your poison?”
Angela grimaces as she swallows and sets it back down.
“Piña Colada.”
“You don’t seem terribly happy about that.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“Oh?”
“Want to know a secret?” She says, lowering her voice and leaning closer across the table, grinning. Fareeha leans over too, humouring her, and turns her head so that Angela can stage-whisper into her ear. “I’ve been drinking them all night because they’re the only cocktail I know the name of, and it’s all because of that stupid song,” she confesses, and Fareeha snorts a laugh and pulls away.
“You mean the one with the-”
“Yup.”
“Wow.”
“I know right?”
She sees Fareeha relax more as she sits back. She notices that her hands have stopped cupping her glass. She’s leaning on her elbow propped on the table instead. Angela takes a quiet moment to appreciate the visual that is a Fareeha Amari finally reigning in her fight-or-flight instinct. Broad shoulders, caramel skin and dark brown, almost black eyes Her heart stutters a moment.. She reminds her of…
Angela would rather not think about that right now.
Angela heads home soon after. Fareeha politely offers to walk her home, but really, her place isn’t even a ten minute walk from the club, so she tells her to stay and look after Lena.
She sits in bed, unwinding and reading a novel, or at least she’s trying to. But all she can think about is how Fareeha is a sight to behold, and there’s a tiny little part in the pit of her stomach that’s hoping, really, really hoping that Lena was telling the truth about Fareeha’s reaction to pretty girls.
She really hopes.