WE WERE already drunk.

The last bus stop was a ten-minute walk from the house, along a long, dark road that twisted over hills and bumps. For three intoxicated students each carrying a bottle of wine and a hipflask shared between, it was torture.

"Why didn't we get a taxi." Ryan puffed grumpily. He was wearing a deep green corduroy shirt that complimented his eyes, his blonde hair still a dishevelled mess as usual (I am not using gel, Gabby, I refuse to look like I just came out of a vagina).

Gabby's glittering silver dress glinted as a car drove past, the headlights shining against us. "Because we get the bus free. And not paying for a taxi meant we could buy these-" she lifted up her £5 bottle of wine in the air, staring up at it as if in worship. A goofy grin spread over her purple lips. "And I tell you, it's bloody worth it."

"Well I just love you guys." I said, laughing when I realised how stupid I sounded. The effects of the alcohol were beginning phase one – Luna: why she shouldn't be allowed to speak when drunk. "Really. I think you're actually just nice. Nice people. Very nice."

Up in front, Gabby practised walking along the road markings in a straight line, the red liquid in her bottle sloshing like waves from side to side. The streetlights, luminating the hedges surrounding us with their prickly leaves, dotted in even phases towards our destination, the only source of light to guide our way, save for the occasional car that zoomed past.

Ryan, grinning, threw an arm over my shoulders and passed the hipflask to me. A cloud of cologne seemed to follow him. "You're very nice too Luna. But I hate to tell you, we're only friends because you give me notes in performance class."

I shoved him. "Piss off. If I fail, I'm bringing you down with me."

"Hmm." Ryan shrugged, greedily taking back the hipflask after I had a sip and winced. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Guys!" Gabby jumped up and down, nearly dropping her bottle in the process. Her dress was beginning to ride up so high you could nearly see her underwear. Ryan, stumbling over to her, rolled his eyes and tugged it down. She didn't notice. "That's the house! It's there!"

Sure enough, there it was: a dingy looking flat on the corner of a new street, surrounded by clusters of students; windows pulsing colourfully, music thudding in the distance.

"Whoever passes out last buys breakfast tomorrow." Gabby said, linking arms with us as we made our way closer.

There was nobody at the door to greet us, probably because we were three hours later than we'd intended to be – Gabby had forced me to try on every dress in my wardrobe, only satisfied after I agreed to wear a backless red dress with matching lipstick that I hadn't worn since high school. By that time, she had yet to curl my hair, and Ryan was still absent, taking a suspiciously long time to buy the alcohol after Gabby had sent him to the shop with her money.

Regardless, we'd finally arrived, heading into the loud, sweaty hallway where some discarded cans of beer lay on the floor.

"I'm going to go say hi to the football team." Ryan shouted over the music, spotting a friend amongst the crowd who waved him over. He gave Gabby a sheepish look as he watched her glare. "What? I always pull girls when I'm with them."

"Last time they made you chug half a bottle of vodka and you threw up on my bed three times."

"I'll be sensible, promise." He widened his eyes into a pleading expression.

Gabby, caving in, sighed. "Fine. But if you don't come find us when the party is over, we're leaving without you."

He'd already gone.

The dance floor beckoned us as the music thumped, so we found ourselves moving into the crowd, singing along to the songs at the top of our lungs. I hadn't recognised anyone from any of my classes, but Gabby had, hugging strangers that seemed to randomly pop up, kindly attempting to introduce me.

When I realised I looked silly trying to join into their conversations, I slipped off to find the toilet, the alcohol settling in my stomach with a deep burn. Unhelpfully, people seemed to point me in all kinds of directions as to where it was, so I found myself wandering upstairs in the hope there'd be less gatherings and more space to see where I was going.

And it was then, despite the loud bass of the music humming all around, that I heard them.

Two voices, clashing against each other with rage.

"...think I could do something about it?" One was shouting. A deep voice, familiar.

"Yes. I think you could have done more than what you fucking did, Abel."

"What would you have done then, huh?" It was the most emotion I'd ever heard in his voice. "If you think you're so fucking smart."

"Threatened to quit, get your dad involved, christ, something!"

I walked closer, unable to help myself. It was clear Celeste was the other person, but in the same way that Abel was more emotive, her voice held a tone of fear that I hadn't expected to ever hear from her.

A door opened to my right, revealing a student exiting the toilet. That could wait.

Instead, I waited for the conversation to continue, silently willing my drunk self to remain as still as I possibly could.

"Not all of us are as bratty as you. I forget, you're all about manipulating people, aren't you?"

Movement. Was Abel moving closer? His voice certainly sounded louder.

"Don't accuse me of being manipulative." Celeste paused. Then, quieter, she hissed: "We're being watched, Abel. All the fucking time. This is serious. You know why she can't get involved."

"I never asked her to be."

"Well then do something about it."

"Do it yourself, Celeste." Abel scoffed. Oh god. He was definitely louder. "I'm done with this."

Just as I was about to fling myself back down the stairs in a desperate attempt to escape, their door opened, and there stood Abel, right in front of me, his eyes locked with mine, lips parted in surprise.

So, logically, I ran.

Thundering down the stairs, I plunged myself back into the crowd, hoping that he wasn't following me, the bodies of other students touching mine as I weaved through, looking for the garden. It wasn't like I was scared of Abel: I just, wasn't exactly thinking straight being drunk – the thought of trying to explain why I was listening in on their conversation was not a welcomed one in my mind, mainly because there was no reason for it. I was simply being intrusive.

As the fresh air hit my face, I breathed in slowly, grateful to be out of the chaotic swarm of students and in a space where I could think.

But my relief didn't nearly last long enough.

"Why is it that you're always in places you shouldn't be."

He had followed me.

Swivelling around on my heels, I faced Abel, taking in his features – those fiery, jade eyes alighting the buried emotion on his face, shadowed by eyebrows pulled low above; his accentuated cheekbones that mimicked the straight line of his jaw, muscles clenching. He was wearing a black shirt with the top button undone, matching the ebony of his trousers and the dark sky above us.

"I'm so sorry." I breathed, hiccupping. The wine bottle was still in my hands, threatening to slip every few seconds. "I promise I didn't mean to – to see that. To hear that, I mean."

He stared at me for a long time, body rigid and still. It felt strange, seeing his movements so impassive and detached, after his dance had been so full of passion.

"What did you hear?" He eventually asked.

"Not very much. I promise." A group of girls came outside, lighting up cigarettes so clouds of smoke floated our way. Swatting my hands as if a fly was buzzing around, I stepped backwards, only to lose my balance and stumble.

Abel's hand reached out and closed around my wrist, firm and stable: an anchor. When he dropped it, the cool air returned in his absence. "Tell me what you heard."

"Something about someone that shouldn't be involved in something. Or something. And Celeste was mad at you about it and you should've done something. Something like-"

"Okay. Fine." Abel sighed, sitting down on one of the garden chairs with exasperation. Then, muttering under his breath, he said: "Just- stop saying 'something'."

Subconsciously, I found myself taking the seat opposite. Despite being out in the cool air with a bare back and exposed legs, I was comfortable, grateful for the music being quiet enough to hear the wind and cars outside, separated from the bustle and chaos of the party.

"Abel?" I whispered after a while, his name spoken from my lips seeming to startle him, almost, for he looked up and scanned his eyes over my face. Avoiding him, I looked to the floor. "Why'd you say I'm always in places I shouldn't be?"

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to reply. But then, he sighed and leant back in his chair, resting his head on the back of it so that he could look up to the stars above. Around his neck glinted a small silver chain, mainly hidden under his shirt. "You tend to let curiosity get the better of you."

"How so?"

And then his eyes were back on me again. But this time I couldn't look away. He was more intoxicating than the alcohol itself, drawing me in with his reposeful beauty. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "La cathédrale engloutie. My sister played it a lot. She said it reminded her of swimming in Italy back when we were kids."

It suddenly hit me what he was talking about. Felicity's piano, when I'd played it. Someone had been listening; I'd heard footsteps. It must've been Abel.

I winced. "I'm sorry. For playing her piano, I didn't realise unt-"

"It's okay." He interrupted, a faint, sad smile appearing on his lips. I waited for him to say something else, but instead he stood up, opened his mouth, and then shut it again, walking back into the party with the same delicate walk as always.

The girls that were having a cigarette watched him pass, still chatting amongst each other, greeting other people that came outside to smoke.

As I sat on my own, placing the half empty wine bottle on the table, I thought back to what I'd heard.

This is serious. Celeste had said. You know why she can't get involved.

And Abel, just earlier: you're always in places you shouldn't be.

I couldn't help but wonder if there was anything else he was referring to.

You can't be here. Had someone said that to me that night? Or was it the haze of the alcohol numbing my senses? I was definitely far too drunk now - the thoughts that were spinning around my head had no order, no chronology.

A strange feeling overcame me, almost a sense of familiarity.

But why? Why did I feel like this had happened before?

It hadn't. The music thudded, droning through my veins.

Had it?

AUTHORS NOTE: it took a rainy day and some coffee and I'm finally getting into the swing of this book!

Eeeeee!

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