Heather
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The club is packed, bodies pressed together in a sea of sweat, spilled drinks, and neon lights that flicker like they’re about to give up.

The bass isn’t just loud-—it’s aggressive, shaking the floor, rattling my ribs, reminding me I should’ve eaten enough before deciding tonight was a great night to make poor life choices.

I down another shot. Tequila, probably. At this point, I could be drinking battery acid and wouldn’t notice.

I lost count somewhere after the fourth one, but the warmth spreading through my limbs is nice. A welcome distraction.

A necessary one.

Robin is somewhere in the crowd, dancing with Ali, their bodies close, moving in sync like they’re rehearsing for a rom-com montage.

I tell myself I don’t care. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. But my eyes keep finding her anyway, drawn to the way she tilts her head back when she laughs, like the whole damn world is hilarious.

Like Ali is hilarious. Which she’s not. The woman once asked if penguins have knees.

Robin’s fingers ghost over Ali’s wrist, light and teasing, the way she used to touch me when she was trying to get my attention. It’s a calculated performance.

She’s doing this on purpose.

I should look away. I should turn around, find someone else to talk to, maybe order some fries because alcohol is hitting me like I owe it money.

Instead, I grab another drink and glare at the back of Ali’s stupid, blissfully unaware head, wondering if she knows she’s being used as a human prop in my ongoing emotional spiral.

Melanie leans in, shouting over the music. “You’re staring again.”

I tear my gaze away and glare at her. “I am not.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. That’s why you haven’t looked away in the last five minutes.”

I ignore her, knocking back another drink and grabbing her hand. “Come dance with me.”

We push into the crowd, the music vibrating beneath our feet, shaking my spine like it’s personally offended by me. The air is thick-—sweat,  cologne, the unmistakable scent of bad decisions.

I move with it, letting my body go loose, letting the alcohol smooth out the sharp edges of my thoughts.

If I can just drown myself in this-—this heat, this music, this chaos—then maybe I won’t feel the way Robin’s presence crawls under my skin like an itchy tag on a shirt I can’t take off.

It’s working. Sort of.

Melanie grabs my hand, spinning me in some approximation of dancing, and I let her.

She’s grinning, her hair wild, her lipstick slightly smudged from kissing that guy who definitely introduced himself as "Big Mike" even though he’s maybe 5’8 on a good day. She’s having fun.

I could be having fun too.

But of course, Robin finds me.

I don’t see her at first—I feel her. The air shifts, my skin prickles, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. And then there she is, slipping between me and Melanie like she’s been granted VIP access to my personal space.

Her body is close, too close, like she’s forgotten how physical boundaries work. Her breath is warm against my ear, smelling of cocktails and bad intentions.

"Having fun?" she asks, voice smooth, effortless, like she’s not currently ruining my life.

I consider my options.

One: ignore her and pretend I’m deeply invested in the DJ’s questionable remix of an already bad song.

Two: throw myself into Melanie’s arms and hope she’s willing to rescue me for the next five to seven business minutes.

Three: respond like a normal, functioning adult.

I go with option four: blind panic.

"Yep!" I say, too loud, too enthusiastic. "Well I was before you showed up but now, eeeh, anyways still the best night of my life. Love this. Love dancing. Love—uh—existing."

Robin smirks. I hate that I notice and it still does something to me.

"You looked like you were trying really hard to do just that."

"What?"

"Exist."

She’s enjoying this, I can tell. She tilts her head, watching me like I’m fascinating, like she hasn’t seen me a hundred times before, like she hasn’t already memorized all my weaknesses.

I need another drink. Or an emergency evacuation plan.

"Not at all!

Robin laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist like she has every right to, pulling me against her. “Liar,” she mutters in my ear.

It’s too much. The heat of her, the way her fingers press into my hip, possessive, like she’s daring me to push her away. But I don’t. I can’t. Because I want this. I want her.

She leans in, her lips brushing against my jaw, her voice just for me.

Where the fuck is Melanie even?

“Tell me to stop.”

I should. I really should.

Instead, I turn my head just slightly, enough that when she moves again, our lips almost-—almost-—touch.

“I hate you,” I breathe.

Robin grins, and it’s devastating. “The feeling is fucking mutual.”

Then she’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd like she didn’t just unravel me with a few words.

Fuckkkkkk!

I weave through the mass of bodies, heading for the bar but my head is spinning, the world tilting from both the alcohol and Robin's mixture of perfume and cocktails.

I grip the counter to steady myself, but it’s useless. My pulse is racing, my skin buzzing, and I know it’s not even from the shots.

I barely register ordering another drink. I barely register anything, honestly.

Until Robin is there again.

I don’t know how it happens. One second, I’m gulping down my drink, trying to drown this, the next, we’re in the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

The club is a blur of sound and flashing lights behind us, but here, it’s quieter.

Robin’s looking at me like she knows what I'm thinking. Like she knows I’m coming apart and is just waiting for me to admit it.

“You’re drunk,” I say with an unsteady voice.

“So are you.” She steps closer.

I back up. She follows.

My back hits the wall. She smirks.

“Stop this.”

I glare at her. “I hate you.”

She hums, eyes flicking to my mouth. “You said that already. And I asked you to tell me to stop.”

Then she kisses me.

And it's everything.

Her lips crash against mine, and I don’t even think-—I just react, grabbing her shirt, pulling her closer. The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and frustration.

Her hands are on me, gripping my waist, sliding under my shirt, fingers pressing into my skin.

I moan, and that’s it. That’s it!

Robin tugs me into the bathroom, shoving open the stall door, slamming it shut behind us. She pushes me against it, her mouth hot and insistent on mine, her hands everywhere.

It’s reckless. It’s a mistake. But I don’t care.

Not when she’s kissing me like this.

Not when she’s pressing her thigh between my legs, making me gasp.

Not when I’m clawing at her back, trying to get her closer.

I don’t know how long we’re in there. Minutes? Hours? Time is meaningless.

All I know is that when the door creaks open, and I hear Melanie’s voice, I freeze.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she mutters.

Robin pulls back just slightly, both of us panting.

Melanie sighs. “Get it together, you two!”

Then she’s gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

Silence.

Robin looks at me, lips swollen, eyes dark.

I exhale a shaky breath, whispering, “What the fuck are we doing?”

Robin grins, brushing a thumb over my bottom lip. “Having fun.”

And maybe I’m too far gone to stop.