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If Harry was being perfectly honest, a club was not his preferred place to spend a Friday night. He went only because Niall wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, especially now that he had a lovely new model girlfriend to show off.
But Harry, alone inside his head, always found himself thinking too much in the pounding music. Of all places to become reflective, the clubs proved to trap himself inside his mind most often.
Sure, there were pretty distractions – soft and touchable girls, handsy and willing boys, Niall’s friend Liam hitting on the modelesque DJ, the DJ’s jealous purple-haired girlfriend watching from afar – yet Harry was so very lonesome.
Day after day he drifted through his life, waking, eating, studying, promising his mum at home that he would figure something out soon. Except he didn’t want to figure anything out. He was eighteen, bored, aching to find some beauty or thrill or love. Or to be found himself.
Of course this black-lit club wasn’t the place for that. If he wanted to find risks and allure and passion he ought to be in the world. According to his hipster friends, he should take a road trip across the country “like all poor, misunderstood indie teenagers must at some point in their life, young Harold.”
Or he could be at a music festival, sleeping in tents and getting high with strangers. Or maybe get himself a band and travel Europe in a beat-up van. Leave uni behind him and discover himself, whoever “himself” was. If “himself” was anything worth discovering anyway.
At the very least, he shouldn’t be at a club, head pounding under the pulsing music and thoughts running rampant.
He considered leaving Niall with Barbara, taking off from the club and wandering the streets for a while. But with a wince he remembered the last time he’d done so, when he’d woken up on a park bench at six AM to 8 missed calls from Niall and a sore back. Worse was the guilt-ridden look on Niall’s face he was greeted with when he stumbled back to their dorm half an hour later, and the bone-crushing hug with whispers of, “I wish you didn’t feel so alone.”
So he took a seat at the bar, smiled at Niall as enthusiastically as he could muster, and watched the writhing mess of bodies on the floor. He considered wandering over to the DJ booth, because though he wasn’t close with Liam – having only met him at a party or two as Niall’s friend – it would be nice to talk to him and the dark-haired boy he was still leaning close to.
Glancing around once more, Harry’s gaze landed on a particularly alive part of the club. It was like a throbbing organism, all reaching and gravitating toward someone – or something – at the center. Craning his neck to see above their heads, Harry spotted a boy dancing in the middle. He was goldenly tanned, with feathery hair plastered to his forehead in sweat, and even from here Harry could see muscles rippling across his arm up to strong shoulders.
But most striking was what Harry caught a glimpse of in the flashing lights. The boy practically dazzled, from the light in his pale eyes to his glistening tan skin. He seemed beyond human in the glow he threw off – but of course that had to be a trick of the light.
He was too beautiful for a human it seemed – sharp cheekbones, impossible curves to his body, a razor-edged quality to his features as if they were cut from diamond. A cruel, cold diamond, because though his very being shone, his eyes were dead and emotionless.
Yet Harry was positively awestruck, and he couldn’t even help himself to avert his gaze. The boy was magnetic, captivating: easily the focus of everyone in his proximity. Harry saw now how every other clubber – male or female – craned for a lingering touch from him, even just something more than the cool glance he gave them each.
For though his hands seemed to be everywhere, each touch appeared impersonal, detached. He wasn’t giving away anything special, and yet everyone near him seemed unable to leave, unable to resist his indifference.
It was absolutely fascinating to Harry, watching this boy operate. But it was all a good bit of entertainment until they met eyes, and the piercing quality to them actually took Harry aback. Yet the boy promptly flashed the most brilliant – and the coldest – smile Harry had ever seen, still latched onto his eyes despite the entwined bodies all around him.
A real white teeth teen.
And Harry knew that this was what he’d wanted – beauty, danger, love . . . all in one. Because this boy that looked like he could bite Harry’s heart in two with those blinding teeth of his, a painfully beautiful boy that Harry needed.
Still holding Harry’s eyes, the boy broke free of the circle, pushing effortlessly through the bodies amassed around him. While Harry didn’t dare to breathe, the boy made a direct line to his spot in an easy gait with a disconcerting mix of determination and disinterest. Harry was glad to see that none of his entourage had followed. He had a feeling this boy would be enough.
The boy came to a stop just in front of Harry’s seat, an amused smile playing on his lips, making Harry fidget in his seat. The intense look in his eyes was still there, practically challenging Harry to make a move.
But Harry was frozen. He could just imagine the boy’s voice: “Impress me.” But he was just Harry, and here was this brilliant boy standing in front of him, his chance to get something out of life, and he couldn’t even speak.
He resorted to a weak smile that he hoped was as charming as it usually was, offering the boy a seat with him. The boy’s resulting smile was wider, revealing sharp and flashing teeth – molars blinking like the lights – as he took a seat next to Harry. He signaled for two shots, and Harry didn’t dare question or refuse, and so at his guest’s nod, he gulped it down, ignoring the burn in his throat. The boy took it easily, eyes brighter as he set the glass down.
“I’m Louis,” he told Harry, speaking clearly over the music, a brash tone to his voice.
“Harry,” he replied, sticking out his hand. Louis glanced at it, chuckled to himself, and took it briefly.
Trying to shake off the humiliation, Harry attempted for further conversation. “Come here often?” Louis barked out a laugh this time.
“Aren’t you precious. Wouldn’t be seen here dead. Lucky it’s dark,” he said, drumming his fingers on the bar. Harry didn’t even know why he was trying. It was clear that Louis didn’t want Harry; he was obviously already regretting coming over to talk with him.
But if this was his one chance at seizing some alluring danger in his life, then he wasn’t going halfway. “Well, seeing as you are here – and I’m here, and I’d rather be dead, too – I reckon we make a night of it?” He held his breath, gauging Louis’ reaction as he waited.
“I like your reckoning. But you seem like a good kid, Harry, and I’d hate to ruin you, which I’m liable to do,” and he was standing to go and Harry could sense his very light fading from him, so he reached and grasped Louis’ wrist.
Louis eyes widened as he sucked in a breath, but he regained himself quickly, flashing an enticing grin at Harry. “Have it your way, then. Just know there’s nothing to stop it.”
Twisting out of his grip and taking Harry’s wrist instead, he dragged him out to the dance floor. They passed the old group, which had dissembled in Louis’ absence, but was forming again now that he had returned. But Louis ignored them all, finding his own spot to dance with Harry. Quickly, his arms looped around Harry’s neck, and Harry found himself gripping Louis’ waist in his hands.
Harry felt fingers pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, felt Louis leaning closer, lips not far from his chin. They continued dancing, closing the space between them, all wandering hands and rasping breaths. When Harry finally felt Louis’ lips close onto his neck, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Louis worked away just next to his collarbone, sharp teeth nipping at the skin before his tongue ran over it swiftly. Harry shuddered as he felt the cool of Louis’ breath just below his jaw. When Louis rose to his tiptoes to lean into Harry’s ear, Harry visibly shivered.
“I give bruises out like they’re gifts.”
Harry struggled to keep his cool, thankful for the darkness in the club that would hopefully conceal his beet-red face.
“You doing all right there, babe?” Louis asked, and Harry hadn’t thought him capable of concern, yet here he saw his flawless face scrunched up just a pinch, eyes softer. Harry shook his head to clear it, took a breath, and met Louis’ eyes again.
They were already cool and uninvolved by then.
“Let’s get some air, Harry,” he said then, taking Harry’s wrist again and pulling him to the nearest exit. They stepped outside into the cold night air, Harry coming out of his daze with the shock of it.
“By this point I’m sure you must have noticed that I’m not quite the same as everyone else,” Louis said suddenly, meeting Harry’s eyes boldly. “But I’ll let you in on something big. I’m not quite so bad as the others: I never did join in. Everything works out so well. I get to dance with pretty boys like you, and you have a moment with a white teeth teen.”
Harry had heard about things like this before – a fantastical kind of teenager that was sharp-toothed, emotionless, and breathtakingly beautiful. Irresistibly alluring and, as a result, dangerous.
All that Harry wanted. All that he should most definitely avoid.
“I usually just enjoy these places, have my fill, and restrain myself. Move on, there’ll always be someone at the next club. Someone worth it, someone worth damning myself to my fate. But this time – I just can’t resist.” He came forward, shorter than Harry but menacing in his sharp beauty. Harry stumbled back.
“You can run now, and I’ll eventually kill you. Or you can join me now, be mine forever. It’ll be the picture of your dreams, you and me, Harry. What do you say? I’ve already got the spot marked,” he said, smirking at the lovebite on Harry’s neck.
This was it, then. Love and danger at last, and it would finally be his life, forever. Spending forever with Louis didn’t sound so bad, especially having seen his wall crumble for just a moment. And once Harry was like him, he could let that wall down all the time.
He stepped forward, resting a hand on the back of Louis’ neck. He met the boy’s eyes, a sharp blue, still calculating what move he would have to make. Louis smiled softly, flicking his tongue across his front teeth, sharp and so, so white.
Harry kissed him once, lightly, on the lips, taking Louis aback. But he recovered quickly, sinking his teeth tenderly but forcefully into the bruising skin on Harry’s neck. Harry gasped softly.
“White teeth teens are out.”