Chapter 20
The nightlife scene during fashion week is on an entirely unparalleled level of celebration. Every person I encounter seems to tower an entire head and a half taller than me with faces so stunningly symmetrical, I would have definitely felt more insecure about myself— had I not been four tequila shots, two j?gerbombs, and a couple of rum and cokes into the partying.
Finally feeling like I can actually have fun out of work without the scrutinising gaze of certain nepo babies, I tag along with Pollux as Ymir and Saoirse’s plus ones to an exclusive event in Onyx, a boujee bar and club in Shoreditch.
Typically, London nights out are abhorrently expensive. But London nights out during fashion week? Everything is free, if you know the right people. And I happen to know the right people (Pollux) who are the right people (Ymir and Saoirse).
As a result, I’m impulsively tossing back vodka shots in quick succession and senselessly careening around the dance floor to celebrate the success of Holmes’ catwalk show.
“Bathroom!” Saoirse tugs on my arm as she yells over the heavy drum and bass blaring in the club, the music so loud I can feel it thrumming throughout my entire body.
Pollux nods as Ymir motions towards the other end of the dance floor.
“Yes!” My response is slow and slurred as I tail behind them.
An unexpected influx of bodies pushing past separates me from Ymir and Saoirse. Feeling the floor shifting under me, I trip over my own feet and accidentally collide with a stranger.
“Sorry!” The tassels of my co-ord-turned-dress catch on their watch as I attempt to steady myself.
“Mahalia?”
I blink at the familiar voice calling my name and I look up in confusion.
“August?” I hiccup, my eyes struggling to focus.
Onyx isn’t the most well-lit of places, even with the heavy strobes of flashing lights, it was still hard to see. Dazed, I stare intently at the stranger in front of me bearing a striking resemblance to the 6ft2 nepo baby and I scrunch my nose in amusement.
“You look like my grumpy boss,” I giggle drunkenly, inhibitions lowered by the alcohol.
August tugs away from me, inadvertently causing the threads to unravel from the back of my dress and I gasp at his attempt to detangle himself.
“Wait– don’t!” Despite my inebriated state, I’m distinctly aware of my situation and I grab hold of his wrist.
The glitter tassels continue to loosen and, without thinking, I press myself against August to prevent his hands from further unravelling the top portion of my co-ord.
“What are you–”
“Sorry, I’m—!” I seem to lose all sensibility as the sensation of August’s proximity overwhelms my already fuzzing senses.
Flashbacks of us backstage before the show earlier cross my mind and I swallow out of nervousness.
The ground beneath me feels even more unstable and I waver, struggling to hold myself up. Wrapping an arm across my chest, I notice the garment has significantly come undone from the back, leaving me to clumsily grasp the front portion in place.
“My dress,” I mumble incoherently, pulling back slightly.
His brows furrow before his gaze travels the length of my body and his eyes widen in realisation.
August pulls me back towards him in a swift motion. The force catches me off guard and I let out a resounding ‘umph’ as he secures an arm around the upper half of my body to shield me.
“Shit— sorry.” He mutters out an apology.
He relaxes his arm around me, shuffling us away from the inquisitive gazes of partygoers in the club.
“Are you drunk?”
Pulling back to look at my face, August carefully studies me and I shake my head, even though I am.
The last thing I want is to appear unprofessional by being a liability who’s unable to handle alcohol in front of their boss. Despite the fact that I am indeed a lightweight and I may or may not struggle to hold my liquor when it comes to mixing drinks.
August regards me for a moment and I’m discernibly very aware of the warmth radiating from his palms as they rest against the uncovered skin of my lower back. He probably hates the glitter shedding from the tassels of the garment but I’m grateful his arms remain stationary to keep it in place.
The touch of his hands on my skin is strangely comforting and I feel a mixture of regret and satisfaction at my choice of outfit.
“Dress,” I repeat, tugging on his arm whilst I press the unsecured piece of garment against my chest.
August stiffens for a moment and I wince apologetically.
“What?” He blinks down at me.
The floor seems to shift beneath my feet, the unsteadiness of my legs increasing.
“Retie it.” I push against him, urgently.
“Which ones?” He sounds exasperated as he tugs on the tassels. In his defence, it’s the ‘Impossible Dress’ and it lives up to its name of being ridiculously challenging to manage. “How?”
I rest my forehead defeatedly against his chest, my mind cloudy. Maybe I shouldn’t make complicated dresses that lead me to even more complicated situations. The alcohol in my system isn’t faring any better and I bury myself further into August, the resinous scent of sandalwood and citrusy note of bergamot filling my senses.
“Mahalia.” His voice sounds gruff and distant.
“Hmm,” I sigh contentedly, feeling the ground a little bit steadier as I level against his height.
Lifting my gaze, I see the doubling image of August noticeably swallow. I squint my eyes uncomfortably as they try to readjust, the liquor circulating in my system doing nothing to ease my distorting vision.
“Stay still,” I frown. “You’re making me dizzy.”
Leaning back slightly, I reach up with both of my hands to steady his face, the multiplying vision of him causing my head to start pulsing.
A cool draft drifts across my front and August bristles.
“Fuck,” He curses.
The resounding jeers and wolf-whistles around us earn a low, dangerous growl from him and I look behind to find a group of clubgoers clapping as they walk past us.
Immediately, a heavy fabric drapes over my shoulders and August guides me to a much quieter area, concealing us in the corner away from prying eyes.
“How much did you drink?” He questions me, his tone impatient.
Squinting up at him, I raise both of my hands to count the number of drinks and I blink. I’ve honestly lost count at this point and my own fingers seem to also be doubling.
August curses again as I accidentally drop the top section of the co-ord.
It might be the alcohol but the sound of August swearing is oddly amusing. I giggle quietly to myself, bowing my head against his chest.
“Oops,” I laugh.
I’m not in the right conscious mind to feel embarrassed, finding the entire situation too entertaining in my drunken state.
“Mahalia,” He warns and I purse my lips.
He quickly bends down to pick up the flimsy garment, tucking it in the pocket of the blazer before tugging said blazer close.
“Arms through the sleeves.”
I pout in annoyance, simple instructions going over my head completely.
“Who did you come with?” he asks.
“Pollux,” I answer. “Ymir and Saoirse.”
“And where are they?”
“Bathroom.”
“Do they know where you are?”
My headache intensifies at his relentless interrogation and I shrug, blazer shuffling slightly. August jerks forward to cover up the front, buttoning it this time.
“Arms through the sleeves,” He repeats, gritting his teeth.
He looks irritated. Offended, almost. I find myself disliking the fact that I’m at the receiving end of his foul mood. The incident backstage before the show was complicated enough, the dinner earlier didn’t help the situation. Why does he have to give me the cold shoulder in the club as well?
We were doing so well.I think miserably. We were getting along.
I angle myself away from him, stumbling as I begin walking in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?”
“Elsewhere,” I wave him away dismissively, tripping haphazardly over my heels and bumping into a bystander. “Sorry!”
Hauretto high heels are stunning but they’re practically a death trap when worn by an intoxicated individual.
Namely, myself.
“Mahalia.” August’s voice is surprisingly audible over the music and I turn sharply, almost falling to my feet again.
This time, he catches me and pulls me to him.
“What?” I huff in annoyance.
I’m already struggling enough to keep myself upright. Continuing to have a conversation with someone who looks less than pleased to be in my presence is not something my tipsy self can tolerate.
“You’re drunk,” He states, begrudgingly.
I narrow my eyes at the surly expression on his face.
“I am not.”
The frown on his face further deepens and I reach up to smooth out the scowl between his eyebrows. His gaze falls to the opening of the blazer and he lets out a disgruntled noise before grabbing my arms and pinning it behind my back.
The action catches me off guard and my breath knocks out of my lungs. Even though my front is pressed up and hidden against him, I feel a lot more exposed than I was before.
“Stop moving so much.” The authoritative tone in his voice makes me pause and I’m abruptly cognisant of our extremely close proximity, even in my state of inebriation.
“Sorry,” I withdraw meekly, my awareness acutely returning.
His grip on my arms loosens and his hands travel down to my waist, slipping under the blazer.
“Arms through the sleeves,” He grouses.
I’m now fully aware that underneath the garment, I’m technically half-nude. The top counterpart of my co-ord is tucked in the pocket of his blazer and whilst the bottom piece is still intact, I can feel it gradually sliding down from my waist, and I know it won’t be long until it follows.
Wardrobe malfunctions are not fun.
“August,” I murmur, barely hearing myself over the discord of noises around us.
His hands fall on my waist, fingers ghosting the bare surface of my skin and the touch is timid, as if asking for permission.
The grey in August’s eyes is visibly a lot darker. Even under the dim lights at the club, I can see how dilated his pupils have become. His gaze falls on my lips, the tiniest hint of his tongue peeking out to swipe his bottom lip and something inside me snaps.
A sudden urge, primal and almost blazing, rushes through me and I impulsively push forward, standing on my tiptoes as I press my lips against his.
Soft. Warm.
Characteristically unlike August.
The electrifying current that sears the entirety of my body is enough to physically startle me and I part from him almost instantly.
The music in the club is loud but my heartbeat ringing in my own ears is even louder. There’s a pause between us, both of us shocked into silence at my bold action.
August is staring at me, wide-eyed, a hint of something unrecognisable flashing across his features. My eyes mirror his, my jaw dropping as I realise the situation.
“I am so–”
The apology doesn’t make it past my lips as he surges forward, crushing his mouth against mine.
All at once, August is everywhere.
A hand grasping the back of my neck, the other trailing under the blazer, touching my bare skin. The kiss is permission as he brings me closer to him, his tall figure caging around me.
His normally level-headed composure vanishes and suddenly he’s unrestrained, coaxing me into his mouth as his hands roam with reckless abandon.
Reaching up to tangle my fingers in his hair, I bite his bottom lip as he begins to pull away, dragging him back towards me with open-mouthed kisses. August groans, hands moving to grip my waist as he pushes me up against the wall. The moan that involuntarily leaves my lips as I press against him douses him into reality and he pulls away to look at me.
It’s the first time I see August’s eyes borderline black, the usual grey of his irises almost non-existent, and heat prickles my skin.
Suddenly, I’m aware of everything, every single one of my senses heightening astronomically.
“Shit,” He pants, voice ragged. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not,” I whisper shakily.
Even though, yes, I’m 100% drunk.
But I’m absolutely thinking straight.
His breathing is heavy as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine.
I want to kiss him, my entire body urging to draw towards him again, but the unreadable expression on his face stops me.
“Fuck.” There’s a sense of hesitation in his voice and my chest tightens at the implication of it. “I shouldn’t have.”
August recoils, avoiding my gaze and I find myself being submerged by an engulfing wave of rejection.
“Oh.” My fingers twitch as I untangle them from his hair, my stomach tying in knots. “S-sorry.”
I turn my head, eyes casting downwards as I step away from August. The stinging sensation in my chest intensifies as the feeling of shame creeps in.
“Don’t you dare,” He grabs my arm gently before I can walk away, enclosing me against the wall again. “Mahalia, don’t do that.”
My name shouldn’t sound so heavenly from his lips, given how sinful his mouth can be.
“Do w-what?” I stammer, nervously.
“Look at me like that.”
The sound of August’s voice, low and scratchy, sends butterflies in my stomach. He leans down to run the tip of his nose along my jaw before peppering soft kisses on my neck.
“I won’t be able to stop myself,” He murmurs.
He leans back, eyes hooded and lips swollen and I reach for him almost instantly, winding my arms around his neck.
“Mahalia,” He husks, voice pained but firm, as he keeps me fixated between his arms. “No.”
“O-okay.” I choke back a heavy swallow. “I’m sorry. I-I thought–”
To be quite honest, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what I’m thinking at all. A million different things are currently running through my head and they’re all to do with August.
The conflicted look on his face pricks at my heart like a needle and I blink back the tears blurring my vision.
“I’ll just–” I turn away from him defeatedly, shifting to create some distance from where he’s cornered me against the wall.
“No,” He grunts, keeping me in place. “You’re drunk. We’re not doing this when you can’t even think straight.”
“I’m thinking straight,” I argue breathlessly.
All day I’ve been thinking about you.
“Mahalia.” His voice is shaky, akin to a plea.
“August.” I mirror him.
His gaze flickers between my eyes before they land on my lips. “God, please don’t say my name like that.”
August’s thumb trails the bottom of my lips and I part them slowly, my tongue rolling out subconsciously to draw the slender digit into my mouth.
“Fuck,” He rasps, grey eyes wide and in a trance-like state as I release him from my lips.
There’s a brief pause before his head falls on the crook of my neck and he nuzzles into me, teeth grazing over my erratic pulse.
“Please.”
I couldn’t identify whether the request came from me or August. My mind is overwhelmed and my body overheating at the sensation of being around him.
August draws back but his hands remain firmly on top of the garment covering my hips, fingers careful not to touch any part of my exposed skin this time. I stand unmoving, feeling my resolve slipping. The scent of him around me, the feel of him on my skin, the taste of him on my tongue.
It’s all too much yet not nearly enough at the same time.
August meets my gaze and I hold it, determined. He’s tugging me towards him and leaning back in when a sudden, hurtling sensation in my stomach starts making its way up my throat.
Panic rises in me as I push past August and dart away immediately. Even I’m impressed with how quickly I make it to the bathroom, in high heels no less, as I keel over the porcelain bowl.
My dinner from the Rose and Thyme is completely unrecognisable as I violently vomit it back out in the toilet. The undeniable pounding in my head and the burning sensation in my throat are grim reminders of overindulging in shots and excessively mixing one too many drinks.
Sitting on the floor of the cubicle, I lose track of time in the bathroom as I purge out the contents of my stomach.
“Oh my god, Hallie!”
A voice that sounds recognisably like Saoirse’s echoes within the stall and I look up to find bleach blonde hair and pretty blue eyes staring at me.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I turn my head to find Ymir crouching down next to me as she holds my hair away from my face.
“Are you okay? Did you get everything out?” Saoirse asks as I nod, still feeling uneasy even after expelling my guts.
“That is a surprisingly great shade of orange,” Ymir comments casually and I can’t help but find it slightly comical at how unfazed she is.
This must be a regular occurrence for everyone.
“We nearly had an aneurysm searching the club for you. You were gone for nearly an hour,” Saoirse adds, sitting down next to me. “Do you need any—”
“Whose is that?” Ymir’s voice cuts through Saoirse’s questioning and I look down at the expensive-looking blazer I’m wearing, thankfully untouched by my gastro-reflux.
August.
The situation sobers me up, embarrassment crashing down on me almost instantly.
“Oh god.”
Unsteadily, I rise to my feet with both Ymir and Saoirse’s assistance. Hobbling over to the sinks, I cringe at my dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Wild, unruly hair and smeared makeup courtesy of a certain platinum blond.
In an effort to keep the whirlwind of emotions under control, I exit the bathroom to find Pollux standing outside waiting for us.
“Oh thank god.” He rushes to me, eyes scanning for any signs of injury. “You’re alive.”
“I had to tactical chunder,” I answer grimly, glancing around for August but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“You will never guess who I saw loitering around the women’s bathroom,” Pollux snickers. “A certain nepo baby of ours looked like he had a raunchy rendezvous in the club. He had lipstick stains all over his–”
He stops abruptly, catching sight of me in the light as I’m wiping the smears of lipstick from my mouth.
“What is it?” The feeling of nauseousness is still vaguely present in my system, despite having just emptied my stomach.
Pollux’s eyes widen. “No way.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“You and Baby Vante?”
It takes me a moment to figure out what Pollux is implying, hands wildly gesturing at my face.
Note to self: invest in smudge-proof makeup.
Without delay, I begin to shake my head. “It’s not what it looks like–”
“You’re wearing his blazer,” Ymir interrupts me.
Saoirse blinks, almost in awe. “You’re wearing his blazer.”
There’s a beat before Pollux’s mouth dramatically hangs wide open in realisation.
“You’re wearing his blazer.”He bounces around me enthusiastically. “That’s essentially him asserting ownership.”
I pull a face, shaking my head incredulously. “I don’t think that’s how it–”
My words are cut short as my stomach protests, prompting me to make another frantic sprint towards the bathroom.