*Trigger warning: assault*
In the early evening, after ten minutes of stressful crowd-weaving through Soho, we pile through the front doors of our hotel into the reception. Checking in was surprisingly easy, as the school had kindly booked rooms under individual student names, and I had to suppress a smile when the receptionist told us that myself and Pete were booked into the same room.
Key cards in hand, the four of us and our luggage squeeze into the lift.
"Wouldn't it be funny if this was like one of those shitty fanfics and you two find out there's only one bed." Tabitha giggled, causing Milo to scoff and shake their head.
"Don't even say those words to me, I will lose my mind." They said, turning to me. "Me n' Tabitha are on the floor below you two, if you need anything drop us a text."
I nod as the lift doors open and the two step out, yanking a large suitcase along with them. Pete waves after them, pressing the button to shut the door, but before they seal a hand catches one and pulls them back open. A boy, who I vaguely recognise from Sixth Form, steps in, a slightly panicked look in his eye.
"I got off at the wrong floor, haha." He chuckles awkwardly, tossing a glance towards Pete who smiles pleasantly in response.
The boy is tall, around a head taller than Pete, with dark hair and glasses. He's large but not overweight, and carries the appearance of an uncoordinated giant, but something about him puts me on edge.
He continues looking at Pete.
"You're Pete, right?" He asks, tucking some loose hair behind his ears. I glance toward Pete, balancing my weight my leg closer to him. He seems a little surprised, but tries to smile.
"Yes, this is Pete," I say bluntly, my eyebrow raising, "what's your name?"
"I'm Michael." He answers, not to me but to Pete, outstretching his hand. Pete reluctantly does the same, and Michael shakes it with subtle enthusiasm. "I've, uh, seen you around school but we're not in any of the same classes."
"I see..." Pete says quietly, lowering his hand and playing with the hem of his shirt, his eyes averted as Michael continues to stare at him.
I feel myself reach the verge of telling him to fuck off and quite starring, but before I do the lift doors rattle open and I pull myself and Pete onto the corridor, placing myself between him and Michael.
"W-what room are you guys in?" He asks suddenly, collecting himself and checking his room card, "I'm in room 310." He looks at me for a brief moment, and our eyes meet. I try to communicate through my stare that he needs to back off, and sense in return a tone of almost... mocking?
"We're in 309," Pete says with a weak smile. I urge him further down the corridor, my eyes flitting between the room numbers and Michael, who continues to follow us like a lost puppy and burning a hole into the back of Pete's head. Arriving at the door, I take the key card from Pete's hand and swipe it through the lock as quickly as I can, pushing (as gently as possible) my boyfriend and our suitcase inside. When I'm halfway through the doorway, I turn back to Michael, who's demeaner seems much different.
He is no longer hunching, and I see he's almost six foot tall. His eyes, a green colour, pierce at me unaccompanied by an awkward laugh. Sliding his key card through lock he maintains eye contact with me and calls out, "see you later, Pete!".
A nerve in me ticks and a I lower my voice.
"I don't know who you think you are but you need to keep your distance." I warn him, my fists clenching.
"What do you mean? I'm just trying to be friends with him." He feigns innocence.
"Why?" I whisper angrily.
"He's cute, what can I say." He shrugs and opens his door. "If you've got a problem with that you can tell me about it later at the ball." He smirks, walking into his room and letting the door slam behind him before I can respond, leaving me on edge and angry.
My mind splits into two. Do I tell Pete that he appears to have some kind of stalker, and risk freaking him out? Or do I let it slide and hope Michael doesn't come back...
Heading back into our room, try and remain as natural as possible. Pete is amusing himself by looking round the room, the soft smile playing on his lips and the sparkle in his eye persuading my to hold my tongue about Michael. I want tonight to be perfect for him.
"Do you want tea?" He asks with a giggle, picking up the empty plastic kettle from its place on the desk.
"Only if there's crumpets," I scoff, looking around.
The bathroom is by the main door, and opposite is a narrow wardrobe and floor length mirror. In the main section of the room is a... double bed.
"I see the others were right," Pete observes, perching himself on the edge of the tall mattress, running his palms over the linen, "maybe this is a shitty fanfic."
I sit down next to him, sliding an arm around his waist and leaning in to him. He stiffens a little.
"What are you doing?" He asks, shyly, and I shrug.
"You know how all the shitty fanfics end, right?" I say quietly, my gaze landing on his lips.
He flushes a deep red colour, so I assume that he knows what I'm getting at. I smile and plant a kiss on his forehead before standing up.
"Don't worry, Pete, I'm not about to undress you right here and now. Besides, we haven't got time - we need to meet the others outside their room at 6:30." I turn to the suitcase and unzip it.
All of a sudden Pete leaps up and places his hands on the lid of the case.
"I... I don't want you to see my suit just yet. Can you turn around?" He pleads, and I oblige him by staring at a wall.
I hear the rustling of fabric as he removes the mysterious suit and takes it into the bathroom. Just as I start to turn around he calls out a panicked, "wait!". Returning to where I was, my curiosity rising, I listen out for familiar sounding objects as he continues to rummage through the suitcase. He takes something inside a plastic bag into the bathroom, and then his quiet footsteps return for something else. The temptation to turn around is almost unbearable as he takes something else, something noiseless, out the bag and I hear one of the bedside drawers open, and then close a moment later.
"You can turn around now." He says, a big sense of satisfaction and relief in his voice.
I turn around.
"Happy now?" I ask, taking my own suit out of the bag and hanging it in the wardrobe. Pete nods happily and heads back to the bathroom to begin what I can only assume to be the long transformation process.
I too start to get ready, every now and again tossing a glance to the suspicious bedside drawers. I keep Michael out of my head as best I can, desperate to not let my temper to get the best of me. Pete didn't say he felt bothered by him, so I shouldn't let myself get so worked up.
My suit is navy blue, and my shoes and tie black. Not exactly a revolutionary colour palette but Brandon assured me that I looked "well fit," and so I bought it. I regret not using the shower before Pete conquered the bathroom, from under the door of which steam is pouring and the sound of a hair dryer can be heard.
I stare at myself in the mirror, frantically readjusting my hair and rearranging my collar as an irritating feeling of self consciousness washes over me. I'm more excited for this ball than I want to admit and I have... plans, for after. I pat my breast pocket, double checking that the little square packet is still there, and take a sigh of relief.
I may have been telling the truth earlier when I told Pete I wasn't going to undress him but tonight, I hope, that will be different.
Looking back into the mirror I frown at the blush that's formed on my cheeks, hitting myself slightly. "Get it together, Ae." I take time breathing, and try to calm my heart rate.
I now notice that the hair dryer has been off for a while.
"You nearly done?" I call through the door.
There's a moments pause.
"... I will be soon!" He finally responds, and suddenly I hear him start to pull on a shirt.
"You're only just getting dressed though, what were you doing aside showering?" I ask, confused.
"Nothing!" He responds, very quickly this time. "I'll be ten minutes."
I check my phone, it's 6:15pm. Then, I drop Tabitha a text asking for her and Milo's room number before leaning against the main door of the room, waiting for Pete.
At long last, the lock on the bathroom door cracks open, and I rise to my feet in anticipation.
Tentatively, Pete steps out the bathroom, and the blush that I had previously tried so hard to eliminate from my cheeks comes flooding back.
He looks at me with nervous eyes as I take him in.
His suit is white, a baby blue floral pattern weaving up the sleeves and back from the hem of the jacket and the cuffs off the trousers. His tie is the same colour as the flowers, and compliments the pale skin of his neck. Like mine, his shoes are black, but instead of leather, Pete chose suede, matching perfectly the delicate appearance of his suit.
My eyes travel back up to his face, landing on his lips for a moment as I notice a subtle shine to them. Is he wearing lip gloss? I bite my lip and refrain from asking, not wanting to embarrass him. He looks self-conscious enough already.
"Wow..." I breath, "now I feel under-dressed." I take a step closer to him, refraining from touching him as I don't want to ruin his hard work, and he finally makes eye contact with me.
"Do you like it?" He asks.
"Pete, you look incredible. Vogue has absolutely nothing on you." I smile at him with a laugh, encouraging him to loosen up. He grins, and I feel a flutter in my heart.
At 6:30pm sharp, Tabitha and Milo emerged from their room, the former in a black 50's style dress, rather dangerous looking red heels and equally dangerous looking makeup, the later in a simple black suit and red tie. They definitely planned this. After several minutes of picture taking and the pair fussing over Pete and his suit, we headed back to reception to wait for the Sixth Form staff to escort us to the venue.
When in the lift, I remembered what happened with Michael earlier and what he said. I vow to myself that I will keep an eye out for him and not let Pete out of my site.
Now, however, we are outside the Royal Cross Hotel. It's a grand, Georgian structure made of red brick and aesthetically covered in green climbing ivy. The contrast of the soft yellow lights streaming from the large windows to the deep of the winter sky, accompanied by the excited clamour of handsomely dressed students exudes romance.
Tabitha and Milo go in first among our group, and I offer Pete my arm. He accepts it, rolling his eyes and laughing a little, but there's a shade of pink on his cheeks. We follow the others, passing through a marble-floored corridor and into a ballroom lined by pillars and dotted with white-clothed circular tables. It's also packed with students.
In contrast to the main setting, there's a wooden dance floor in the centre of the room and multi-coloured disco lights bouncing off all surfaces, the thump of modern music giving away the age-range of the party-goers.
The dance floor is already quite full. Some I recognise, many I don't, but the energy flowing from them is intoxicating, and the room seems to vibrate. Pete appears to feel the same, pointing toward it eagerly. Suddenly Milo appears by our side, their hands full of glasses.
"Take one!" They half shout over the music. "It's non-alcoholic fruit punch!" Tabitha appears behind them, her dark appearance quite the contrast to the colourful dresses other girls had chosen. She sips her drink.
"No one was meant to bring alcohol but I can tell you for sure that people have anyway," she explains, leaning in close so we can hear, "it happens every year, and the school takes no notice because they've accepted that British students will go to any extreme to smuggle alcohol into a party." Suddenly, she sees someone she knows, waves excitedly and drags Milo with her, who quickly dumps two glasses into my hand before disappearing into the crowd.
I offer one to Pete, and he accepts it, sniffing it tentatively before taking a sip.
"Not bad," he determines, going back for more. I laugh, taking a sip of my own. It tastes like tropical juice and extra sugar.
"I better not catch you drinking any alcohol," I warn jokingly, and suddenly, I jolt forward, almost spilling my drink.
I whirl around and my eyes meet with two green ones.
"Oh." I say. "Hello Michael."
I feel the anger resurge in me with force as he eyes up Pete, a fucking blush forming on his face.
Pete offers him a polite "hello", and asks him if he's having a good night. I glance at him, my expression reading worry, but Pete, consumed in the atmosphere is open to conversation.
"My night is going a lot better now," Michael smirks, leaning in too close for my liking. His jawline is strong and his adam's apple prominent.
I bite my lip. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, yet it's creeping into my head. Pete continues to talk to him as I slowly swell with anger. It's not that I don't trust Pete, I'd trust him with my life; I just don't trust overly keen guys who seem like they want to get frisky with my boyfriend.
"Ae!" I hear my name loudly from behind and find myself whirling once more. It's Brandon.
Michael suddenly straightens up and stuffs a hand into his pocket, rolling his eyes.
"Oh look it's the dickhead," Brandon says, rather deadpan.
"Fuck off, yeah," Michael retorts.
I glance between them. Do they know each other?
The two glare at each other for a moment and eventually, after another long gaze at Pete, Michael stalks off. I feel my anger start to diffuse.
"Michael's a twat, ignore him." He says firmly before complimenting Pete's suit.
"How do you two know each other?" I ask, perhaps a little too eagerly. Brandon re-balances his weight to the other foot and crosses his arms.
"I grew up with him, we used to be friends. Then I realised he gives me bad vibes and so I dropped him." He says with a shrug. "Best to just steer clear of him."
Pete frowns. "What did he do to give you bad vibes?" He asks, chewing his lip a little, rubbing away the gloss.
"I don't know, nothing in particular really, he just gets very intense about people he fancies and it creeped me out." He reaches into his jacket as my heart drops.
He definitely likes Pete, that's obvious to anyone who has eyes. How long has he liked him for? Has he been looking at him like that without me knowing? My mind spirals, my blood pressure rises and I subconsciously place a hand on Pete's back.
Brandon pulls a small bottle out of a pocket inside his jacket.
"Enough about that idiot though, have some of this." He pops the cap open and pours clear liquid into my glass. I snap out of my reverie.
"Wait what are you doing?" I ask, snatching the glass back. Brandon laughs and takes a swig from the bottle.
"Calm down mate, it's only vodka." He takes Pete's glass and tips a non-conservative amount into it. I watch the glass in dismay as Pete places it to his lips and drinks.
"Pete!" I exclaim, "you promised me you wouldn't drink."
Pete swallows, grimacing at the taste. "I know I did, I just wanted to try some."
Brandon punches his arm with a smile. "See, Ae? Live a little, it won't kill you." Pete takes another sip, and Brandon looks at me with encouraging eyes.
"Listen, it's not gonna get you wasted, and it's not like you can doing anything here that'll be dangerous. There's teachers everywhere and they don't give a shit about you drinking."
I swallow, eyeing up the glass and tossing a glance to Pete.
He seems perfectly happy. I need to stop stressing over Michael and just have a good time, that's what I came here for and I don't want Pete to be disappointed.
I down the contents of my glass.
Brandon raises his bottle and cheers, pouring more vodka into it and gesturing us to follow him to the dance floor. On the way, I fill up the rest of my glass with the fruit mixture. I notice other students sitting down and eating, but Pete seems content to dance, and so I will oblige him.
The dance floor is louder than the rest of the room and you have to virtually scream to be heard by the person next to you, but nevertheless it's fun. No one can really dance but moving to a beat is easy, and Pete has surprisingly good rhythm. His hips sway, his slim legs carry him with a certain amount of grace, and his hair falls wildly across his face. I can't lie, it's attractive.
We dance for most of the evening, consuming more punch and vodka and falling more and more into the thump of the stereo. Pete is entrancing, and my eyes don't tear away from him for one moment. He gets particularly into ABBA's 'Dancing Queen', the effect of the alcohol mixing with his goofy side as he lets loose and flails his limbs in any direction. I laugh more than I have in a long time, the near altercation earlier completely leaving my mind.
After another long while of dancing, I feel the desperate need to piss. Knowing it's the affect of alcohol and realising I'm drunk, I decide to head to the bathroom. Knowing Pete won't hear me, I instead hold his arm to get his attention and somewhat awkwardly point at my crotch and then toward the sign above a door across the room that says "gents" in cursive letters.
Pete laughs and nods, turning to Brandon who, in his laddish way, punches him in the arm and dances with him.
Knowing he's with Brandon, I stumble slightly across the ballroom to the toilets. On the way, I spot Tabitha, her lipstick incredibly smudged, sat very closely with a male student with red streaks around his mouth. Milo is sat nearby, sipping vodka like it's water.
I finally make it past the tables of food and into the toilets, bee-lining to a urinal as I unzip my trousers.
The alcohol causes me to shudder as I relieve myself, and when I'm done I spend some time in front of the sink mirrors re-tucking my shirt, fixing my tie, straightening my collar and neatening my hair. After about ten minutes of collecting myself and sobering up by splashing cold water on my face, I leave the bathroom and am submerged back into the party.
I weave through the crowd back toward the dance floor, my eyes searching for Pete. To my concern, I don't see him anywhere. Frantically, I search for Brandon, who I eventually find near the food, helping himself to salt and vinegar crisps.
He sees me coming and waves me over, I move more quickly, the look on his face telling me something's up.
"Have you seen Pete?" We both ask, simultaneously.
"He took my vodka bottle and downed it, then walked off with it. I don't know where he's gone." He says much more seriously than I'm used to hearing from him
My heart rate sky rockets and feel myself completely sober up. Before he says anything else, I turn on my heel and weave through the mass of students, my eyes scanning everywhere for the familiar face. I clench my fists out of anxiety, not seeing him among the main crowd. In a desperate bid, I leave the main ballroom, going back into the marble hallway and coming to a halt. I listen, trying to ignore the music. I think I hear a voice from another room, so turn left and briskly walk to another door. A sign on it says "staff only", but the door isn't shut properly and a little light spills into it.
In the open gap, I catch a glimpse of blue flower print and breath in hard.
Without thinking, I slam the door open. What I find makes me see red.
Pete's jacket is discarded on the dusty floor, crumpled and trampled on. His shirt is pulled open, his tie wrapped tightly around Michael's fist as the taller boy holds my boyfriend toward him, his lips attacking his neck. Tears roll down Pete's face as he pushes weakly against his attacker, legs shaking and lips bruised.
"Ae," I hear him murmur, choked by tears and the pressure of his tie against his throat.
At the sound of the slam, Michael tears his lips off Pete's exposed neck.
"Oh," he says, panting, " it's you."
Pete looks at me, sheer desperation and fear in his eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I demand, my voice quaking with anger, every muscle in me twitching.
"I'm enjoying my night, and you're interrupting me." He responds darkly, drawing Pete closer and sliding his free hand down his back toward his ass.
Pete whimpers, another load of tears rolling down his cheeks.
The sound resonates in me, reverberating like an icy wind, or a baby's cry. I approach Michael, all sense of composure gone. I look at that jawline, then meet his hazy green eyes.
"What are you gonna do, punch me?" He laughs, looking down at me, his expression dripping in pride.
I do just that, swinging my fist and delivering an uppercut to his jaw, the force of my pent up anger releasing like a spring and colliding with a satisfying thud to the bone. Michael, not expecting the force, falls and crashes into shelves of cleaning equipment behind him, hitting his head. He cradles his head and his jaw, groaning.
I ignore him entirely, grabbing Pete's hand and his jacket before running out of the room, and then out of the hotel entirely into pouring rain.
He collapses into me, shaking and crying, calling my name and shielding his exposed chest with his arms. I drape his jacket over his shoulders and embrace him, running my hand over his hair, telling him I'm here, allowing the rain to soak us in the cold London air.