"Do not," Jake, my best friend, warns me. 

I do it anyway. I grab my polaroid and snap a picture of him drinking tequila for the first time ever. This should be memorized forever!

"I don't see why you're making such a big deal out of it," Eliot comments. Eliot is our other roommate, an exchange student from France. He's been here for a little over two months now, but his accent bleeds through in almost every sentence. It's either hilarious and adorable, depending on how much French cursing he adds to it. 

"You don't know how long he's been avoiding that drink," I say to Eliot, telling Jake to pose nicely. He doesn't want to, but he'll whine tomorrow when there's a picture of a very annoyed him on the fridge. 

"Now both take a shot at the same time," I order them around, pointing at the place I want them to be in. Jake groans. "I should have never bought you a polaroid camera for your birthday."

I flip him the bird. "At least you remembered this year."

That shuts him up. Though it's dark in the bar, it's clear Jakie's cheeks get a little hotter. God, he's so easy to mess with. Finally, I decide I've had enough pictures and free them. 

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we'll officially be starting our ABBA Night now, so prepare to be Dancing Queens and Super Troupers!" a presentator shouts from the front. Eliot squeals, jumping up and down. ABBA fans, I'll never understand them. 

He notices me looking at him and shoves a finger into my face. "Don't side eye me like that, Harrison. After these two shots, I bet you'll be a Winner who Takes It All."

With a sigh, I sit down on the closest barstool. "Nah, I think I'll have to call S.O.S. in that case." Eliot and Jake look at each other at the same time, then start making inhuman sounds. "HE'S FAKING IT! I KNEW IT!"

Shit. I blew my cover. 

"Mamma Mia," I sigh, watching as both of them start screaming at the top of their lungs to Take A Chance On Me. I enjoy ABBA, don't get me wrong, but to start sing along to it, out loud? No way in hell. 

"Lads, say Thank You For the Music to our band!" The presentator is back, shouting puns through the microphone and making everyone scream again. And when I mean everyone, I mean everyone; not just my friends. I believe even the guys taking a piss are cheering along. 

"WE CAN GO DANCING, WE CAN GO WALKING..." Getting more and more depressed (and deaf!) by the second, I decide to leave my embarrassing roommates. Thank God I vetoed the 90s outfits earlier because what a fiasco would that have been.

The utter second I've turned, a drunk guy crashes into me. The evening has started half an hour ago, maybe, but this man has already drank enough to be drunk for three days straight. And still, he manages to send me a flashing smile. While swaying on his feet, yes, but at least he doesn't throw up. 

"Sorry, Chiquitita," he tells me, then starts giggling at his pun. It takes me piles of effort not to roll my eyes at the ceiling. "Here, I'll buy you a drink with my Money, Money, Money!"

There's no escaping it, is there?

"No, no, thank you," I tell him. He shrugs, looking like he already forgot what I'm saying no to. Thankfully, a guy behind him grabs his arm and drags him away again. The drunk dude pouts, but there's nothing he can do to prevent his friend from dragging him away. 

That leaves me with space to escape the madness going on here. This night was a mistake; I never should've proposed it. I thought maybe it would cheer Jake up. He's been awfully caught up with school lately and I feel like he's overwhelmed. Now that his schedule is less hectic, and this was the only decently-seeming event in the area, I took my chance.

"I WASN'T JEALOUS BEFORE WE MET!" the crowd shouts, giving me my cue to disappear into the toilets. The last stall is still unoccupied, so that's where I grant myself a moment of rest. Of course I lock it; I don't need any loose hands trying to access my body. 

I open my phone, just for the sake of making sure neither Jake nor Eliot has sent me a text wondering where I am. Nothing. I'm glad they're enjoying their evening; after all, that's why we're here. 

The door of the bathroom slams open at the same moment I put my phone back in my pocket. I startle a little, not expecting people to come in with such brutality. A deep voice laugh, followed by a lighter voice slurring. I can't make up what's said, but from the sound of it, I shouldn't be here for much longer or I'm about to hear traumatizing things. 

Once I flush the toilet (I didn't use it, I just want to mess with them), I unlock the stall and head to wash my hands. I'm not freaked out by dirty things soon, but a public bathroom is my boundary. Never use it without washing your hands. No, scratch that. Never use any bathroom without washing your hands. 

". . . what're you doin'?" The voice carries an accent I can't place. Obviously, it's slurred, but it sounds higher, somehow. As if the person is. . . panicking. 

"No, no, we ain't doin' that!" it continues. I curse myself for being here and having to hear this call for help. I'm not sure whether or not the person is in danger, but now I've heard this, I can't just go without making sure they're alright. It would be cruel to leave someone like that. 

"Come on, sugar, once. For me," the deep voice sounds again. A shriek follows, making me close my eyes in annoyance. Why do people have to go and ruin someone's night like this? Why would they drag a drunk person into a stall? Worst of all, why would they ruin my perfect ABBA night? 

"N-no. I need another drink. No doin' that. Does Your Mother Know what you're tryna do here?" Though the lighter voice handles it well, it's clear they're shaken up. It trembles just the slightest bit, but it's noticeable. 

Though I scowl at yet another ABBA pun, I go ahead and knock on the door of their stall. They go silent, before I hear rustling and a man in his forties opens it. "What?" he barks. 

So he's the deep voice, got it. I immediately put on my flawless smile, the one I use when I help my dad in the weekend. "Hi. I noticed my friend leaving with you, which of course is totally okay, but we're about to head off. Could you maybe wrap up and send them outside? Thank you."

With a glare directed at me, he steps out of the stall and allows me to enter. Inside is a guy sitting on top of the closed toilet, eyes teary. Yet he's taking it like a champ and forbidding them to fall down. "Hey. Are you ready to leave? Me and . . . Jessica wouldn't want to leave without making sure you're alright."

With a confused frown, he looks up at me. And then he startles, as if he hadn't seen me before. "W-what—who's—"

I crouch down in front of him. I don't touch him, because who in their right minds would be touching someone who almost got assaulted? "Have you drunk too much again? I'm your friend, Flynn. Jessica is right outside, she's our friend. We're going to take care you get home safely, okay?"

The confusion in his eyes only thickens, so I pull out my phone and type him the message. The creep that brought him here is definitely waiting and listening mere feet away, so I don't want to complicate things. 

"I'm Dante," the guy croaks out. His voice is hoarse and the tears welling up in his eyes are becoming more and more visible by the minute. I give him my hand. "I know, Dante. I'm your friend, remember? It's probably best if I drop you off at home."

He nods, his shoulders tense and eyes flickering over my face. I know he's doubting if I'm worthy of his trust, but I think we both know I'm his best chance on escaping the creep. 

Said creep scowls at me when we finally leave the stall. Dante is leaning onto me; I just don't know if it's the alcohol or the fear that drives him to do so. Either way, I'm getting him out of here, and I'm taking Jake and Eliot with me at once. There's no way I'm leaving them in a bar with creeps trying to get a prey in their hands, ABBA or not. 

"Flynn—who's this guy?" Jake asks, his excitement from seeing me switching to worry for the stranger quickly. But I guess that's Jake; always worried for another's well-being. 

Seeing as Dante is staring at him with wide eyes, no doubt an aftermath of the shock, I answer Jake's question. "I was in the bathroom and saw him getting bothered by a creep. He's not feeling well, so I think I'm going to take him home. And the both of you, obviously."

Sobered up immediately, Jake nods and grabs Dante's other arm. "Yeah, that makes sense. Eliot!" he shouts to my other roommate, who's probably wandering off and trying to get laid. "We're going home!"

"No! Jake, I Have A Dream for tonight!" Eliot pouts, clearly having already had more drinks than me and Jake together. I grab his collar and drag him along, trying to ignore the painful kicks against my shins coming from him. 

"So, Jessica, hm?" I hear a voice comment from behind us. It's no doubt the creep, and I ignore him, too. At least until we're outside the bar and finally able to breathe in fresh air again. Only then I allow myself to catch a look of his face one more time. 

To my surprise, Dante crumbles. Since I'm holding Eliot in the other hand, and Jake isn't that sober anymore, we have to let him go. I watch as he sinks to the floor in what I call the panic position: back against the wall, knees against chest and hands on either sides of the head. 

His breath is coming faster and faster now, and I'm worried he's having a panic attack. Trying to think quickly, I look around. I now have three people to look out for: all three of them are drunk, one is having a panic attack, one wants to go back inside and the other is a clueless drunk. 

"Alright, alright," I curse. I give my keys to Jake, who seems to be able tot hink reasonably. "I want you to lock Eliot in my car, okay? You do remember which one that is, right?"

He smiles and nods, pointing at a red car further down the street. With a groan, I turn him around so he's pointing at the right red car. "There you go. I'll be with you in a moment."

"Okay!" he cheers, grabbing Eliot's arm and taking him along. As their footsteps decrease in sound, I let myself sink next to Dante. He's now clearly hyperventilating, and I can smell the sweat, caused by his fear. 

"Dante, will you listen to me?" I ask of him. He makes the smallest of sounds, just enough for me to know he hears me. "You're safe now, okay? I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I know you can't trust a stranger, but I want you to listen to me. Panicking like this will not help you. Breathing decently will. So why don't we take a few deep breaths together?"

"I'm—I—no," he cries out, covering his ears and turning away from me. I bet he's trying to push me away, but I'm not leaving him out here all alone and in the middle of a panic attack. 

"Then what do you want?" I ask him. Maybe a gentler approach works better. He sobs, but I get no answer. 

Instead of watching how he destroys himself in a panic attack, I move to his front. Just like in the stall. Slowly, I move my hand towards him, so he doesn't get startled. And just as slowly, I wipe the tears out of his eyes. "Alright now. Do you want to hear the truth?"

With little hesitance, he nods. He doesn't look at my face, but focuses on my shirt. I guess that's alright. "People like him enjoy your tears. It's their main goal. And you're giving him exactly what he wants."

At that, he roughly wipes his own tears away. "N-no, I don't want that."

"Then dry your tears," I tell him. "You can cry when you're safely at home. Do you understand that?"

Finally, he gets up. His breathing is a little steadier, so I give him an arm for support and make my way tot he car. Jake and Eliot are already in the backseat. When I open the door, I hear Jake's snoring. He's out for tonight. 

As gentle as I can, I help Dante in the passenger seat. I protect his head against the roof and click his seat belt so he's safe for the ride. With the current state of mind he's in, I don't think he can do it by himself. "Hey, do you know your address?"

A tiny nod, but at least no tears. "I'll put it in the GPS."