The city was a living canvas of light and motion by the time Zhane and Celine's car rolled to a stop in front of the club. Neon signs painted the night in streaks of red and violet, flickering against the damp asphalt that shimmered like liquid glass.
From outside, the building looked alive — tall and slightly worn, but proud, pulsing with heavy bass that thudded through its walls like the heartbeat of something wild and untamed.
Celine parked the car neatly by the curb, the hum of the engine fading into the music that leaked from the doors. She sighed, leaned back against the seat, and pulled on her dark shades. The move wasn't for fashion — Zhane could tell.
It was a shield, a silent way of hiding herself from recognition, or perhaps from what she was feeling.
"Let's go," she said, her voice cool but soft.
Zhane nodded and stepped out. The night air wrapped around him, thick with the scent of alcohol, smoke, and perfume.
He glanced around, not out of curiosity, but instinct. His eyes, sharp and watchful, swept across the people loitering at the entrance: the laughter, the occasional shout, the sound of heels against the pavement. He followed Celine as she strutted toward the glowing doors, her presence commanding without effort.
Inside, the club was chaos given rhythm. Multicolored lights chased each other across the floor, flashing on sweating faces and shimmering clothes. The DJ booth was elevated like an altar, and the crowd worshipped it with movement — hips twisting, arms raised, heads thrown back in surrender to the pounding music.
Zhane's senses buzzed, partly from the noise, partly from unease. The air reeked of alcohol and artificial sweetness; people were laughing too loudly, moving too fast, and the heat pressed against his skin.
Celine moved through the crowd with ease, heading for the counter. Her figure drew glances — she had that rare kind of magnetism that pulled eyes without trying. The bartender, a tall man with tired eyes, leaned forward as she approached.
"Whiskey," she said simply, her voice barely audible over the music.
He nodded and turned to prepare her drink. Zhane hesitated a few steps behind, still observing, still unsure why they had come here of all places.
"I don't think coming here was a good idea," he said at last, his tone low, his voice almost swallowed by the music.
Celine turned, lips curving slightly. "Relax. We're just having fun."
The bartender slid the half-filled glass toward her. She caught it gracefully, nodded in thanks, and took a sip — her lips parting slowly, her eyes closing just for a heartbeat as the drink went down.
Zhane swallowed, suddenly aware of how his gaze lingered too long. The bartender turned to him. "What about you, sir?"
He opened his mouth to refuse, but before he could, Celine spoke again, her tone casual. "A glass of soda for him."
Zhane blinked, caught off guard. The bartender nodded and turned away.
He looked at her. "You didn't have to—"
"I know," she cut in, smirking faintly. "But I figured you'd rather not stand there with empty hands. You don't drink, right?"
Zhane hesitated. "…Yeah. How did you—"
"I pay attention."
Her answer left him silent. He didn't know whether to feel flattered or unsettled. When the bartender returned with his soda, Zhane accepted it with a quiet nod, though he didn't drink. Instead, he let his eyes drift again — the flashing lights, the swaying bodies, the laughter that didn't reach the eyes of half the people here.
Celine downed another sip, then turned toward the bartender again. "You have private rooms available?"
He gave a short nod. "Yeah. Want one?"
"How much?"
She slipped a few notes onto the counter before he could answer. "Keep the change."
The bartender smirked and passed her a small metallic key. "Room twelve. Down that hall."
Celine gestured for Zhane to follow, and together they moved through the pulsing crowd. People brushed past them — dancers lost in their own rhythm, couples locked together in the flicker of strobe lights.
Zhane's expression barely shifted, but inside, his nerves coiled. Every step into the dim hallway felt like stepping out of one world and into another.
When they reached the room, Celine pushed the door open.
The music softened immediately, replaced by the muffled throb of bass through the walls. The room was dimly lit, its corners cloaked in shadows.
A long black couch stretched against one wall, and a low glass table sat before it. On the table rested a box filled with bottles — whiskey, vodka, rum — all waiting like silent temptations.
Zhane shut the door behind them. "So this is where you bring people to 'have fun,' huh?"
Celine laughed lightly, walking toward the couch. "Not people," she corrected, plucking a bottle from the box. "Just us tonight."
She uncorked the bottle and drank deeply. Zhane's eyes widened as she kept gulping without pause, the liquid sliding down her throat like water.
"Celine, slow down—"
She exhaled heavily and sank onto the couch, the bottle half-empty already. "Relax, Zhane. I'm fine."
He frowned and moved closer, sitting beside her. "You're drinking like you're trying to forget something."
She turned her head slowly toward him, her eyes glossy under the dim light. "Maybe I am."
"Your friends?" he asked softly.
Her lips trembled into a weak smile. "You remember."
"I do."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence between them carried more weight than words ever could.
Then, with a sudden motion, Celine lifted the bottle again and drained what remained. Zhane instinctively reached out to stop her, but she was faster — the last drops disappeared before he could move.
The bottle clinked softly as she dropped it to the floor, her laughter low and uneven. She reached for another, but Zhane moved the box out of her reach.
"Hey," she protested weakly.
"That's enough."
Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded, her body sinking deeper into the couch. "You sound like… an old man," she murmured, her words slurred with sleep and whiskey.
"Maybe," Zhane replied quietly. "But someone has to keep you from drinking yourself sick."
She didn't respond. Her head tilted slightly, her lashes lowering as though she were about to fall asleep. Zhane sighed and stood, intending to move the bottles to the corner. But before he could step away, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
He froze.
"Say, Zhane…" Her voice was faint, almost fragile. She tugged gently, pulling him back down. He let her, his heart thudding as he found himself sitting beside her again.
"You're not going to leave me… like they did, right?" she whispered, her words trembling with something that wasn't just drunkenness. Her eyes lifted to his — hazy but full of emotion.
Zhane's chest tightened. In her gaze, he saw everything she hid from the world: the loneliness, the guilt, the exhaustion of pretending she was fine.
He thought of everything — the time she helped him after he'd been beaten, the way she'd looked at him when he was bleeding, the concern in her voice when no one else had cared.
She wasn't just a spoiled girl anymore. She was human — flawed, scared, and desperately searching for someone who wouldn't walk away.
He reached out and pulled her into an embrace. "I'm here, Celine," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her fingers tightened around his shirt, her voice muffled against his chest. "Promise?"
"I promise."
When she looked up at him, her eyes shimmered — not from tears, but something deeper, something raw. The lights from outside flickered across her face, catching the curve of her lips, the softness of her expression.
Zhane swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. Her breath brushed against his skin, warm and sweet with traces of whiskey.
Then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed him.
The world fell silent.
Zhane froze, breath caught, as the softness of her lips pressed against his. It wasn't rough or desperate — it was hesitant, searching, trembling with emotion she couldn't put into words. For a second, he thought of pulling away. He thought of everything that could go wrong — but then, instinct took over.
He kissed her back.
Celine's hands slid up to his neck, pulling him closer, and Zhane's arms wrapped around her waist almost automatically. The kiss deepened — as they nibbled on each other's lips exploring with their tongues .
It wasn't just desire. It was grief, confusion, longing, and unspoken connection all tangled together.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, breathing unevenly.
Zhane's thoughts were a storm — guilt, relief, and something dangerously close to happiness.
Celine smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "You know… you're warmer than you look."
Zhane chuckled softly. "And you're more stubborn than I thought."
She laughed — a real laugh, light and unguarded — then slumped against his shoulder, her body relaxing completely. Within minutes, her breathing evened out; she'd fallen asleep.
Zhane sat there for a long time, staring at her face under the dim light. The fierce, confident Celine was gone. What remained was the fragile girl who missed her friends… who was afraid of being alone.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll keep that promise."
Outside, the music played on — muffled, distant, as if the world itself was moving on without them.
But inside the small room, under the hum of the lights, a figure draped in black a cloak stood still..
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