Ants bony finger circled the rim of his glass, dewdrops of sweaty condensation wetting the tip. The droning hammering of the bass-sludge EDM made the table it was on vibrate, tickling his hand if he laid it down on the surface for too long.
“Sorry, is this seat taken?” Someone shouted at him over the music, and he looked up in irritation.
The guy in front of him looked out of place with how many layers were covering his pale skin. Who the fuck wears a hoodie to a club.
“Sorry, I’m waiting for my date.” Ant replied, giving an apologetic smile.
The mans face remained eerily blank, not giving any indication as to whether he had heard Ant or not.
“Oh no. So am I. Waiting, I mean.” He said, finally, pointing at the door leading to the shitty club toilets, right across from where the table was, and Ant sighed.
He gestured sloppily at the chair across from him, relenting. The club was packed since it was a Saturday night, and his own feet were already aching from how long he’d been at the dancefloor, so he could understand needing a break, but it was still kind of annoying. He didn’t feel like smalltalk, so he sipped his drink (something strong, bitter, masculine, he’d forgotten the name) and put it down between them, trying to make it clear he wasn’t interested in sharing the table, before taking out his phone.
The man didn’t react much, just sitting stiffly on the chair, looking at something past Ants head. He was pretty unremarkable, dark hair, dark eyes, white, could maybe pass for emo-cute if he grew out his stringy black hair, but Ant already had a date and wasn’t looking for a threesome.
He tried to focus on his phone, scrolling through twitter, but found his eyes drawn to the stranger beside him, who was drumming his fingers on the table and fiddling with the frayed hems of his sleeve. He seemed nervous, but Ant couldn't say if it was because of the crowd or because of him.
Ants own date wasn’t showing any sign of life, and he was starting to get pissed. He was really hoping for some distraction, so of course this had to be the one night he gets stood up. Just his luck. He picked at the skin around his fingernail, already raw and flakey.
The other man turned, his mouth a hard, thin line, and leaned forwards, motioning at Ant to do the same.
"What are you drinking?" He asked, loudly, to be heard over the blasting noise. Ants eyes flicked across his face for a second, before he caught himself and looked off to the side. Stop being a creep.
"Uh-" He tapped his finger against the table. "Whiskey, I think."
The man blinked, still holding the same expression.
"What about you?" Ant prompted.
"Water."
Ant laughed, and then realized he was serious.
"Oh, uh, designated driver? It's a pain, I know how it is." Ant lied. He didn't have a license.
"I don't drink." He answered, bluntly.
"Oh."
Ant was at a loss for words. He was usually good at talking, but the stranger left him feeling unsure of himself, like he was being judged for something he didn't sign up for.
"So... You waiting for a date, or what?" He finally asked, trying to sound friendly.
The guy shifted, his movements stiff and deliberate. Ant caught a glimpse of a collarbone above the neck of his hoodie, the bone protruding like a mountain range.
"Something like that."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic. Is she ugly or something?" Ant teased.
"Ah, no she..." His voice was hoarse, Ant could see his adams apple bobbing, "she's alright. Blonde." Like that explained it.
"Ah, huh, nice." He checked his phone, one new message. Sorry, I know this is really last minute, but I can't make it, my dog-
He didn't read the rest before swiping it away, grinding his teeth.
"Well, you're better off than me, I just got stood up." He said. "You're not a very good conversationalist, are you?"
This actually seemed to make the guy react for the first time, wincing a bit.
"Sorry, I don't. I don't go out much." He admitted.
"Yeah I can tell." Ant took another sip. "That's alright, it's kinda cute. In a nerdy sort of way."
"Thanks." The guy said, after a pause.
"You got a name, stranger?"
He hesitated, as if the answer was too personal. "I'm Petri."
"Anton."
Ant raised his hand and they shook. Petri had cold, calloused hands, damp with sweat.
"How do you like the music?"
"It's fine."
"You got anything you're into?"
"I like classical."
"Classical?"
"Like, old."
"Yeah, I got that." Ant laughed. "I just didn't expect it, makes you sound kind of like a snob. Or old. No offense." He added, quickly.
Petri shrugged.
"You're older than me."
"How are you so sure about that? Do I look that old or something?" A swipe through his short, straw colored hair, trying not to seem self conscious.
"Just a guess."
"How old are you?"
"20."
"Shit. Yeah, you're younger than me, I'm 28."
"Yeah."
Ant laughed again, not sure if he was being made fun of or not. The guy was throwing him off, but it was doing something to his competitive side. A game to be won.
"Are you a student? Or is this some kind of hip new style I'm too old to understand." He joked, gesturing at the guys outfit.
"I work."
Twitchy fingers picked at a lose seam, his fingernails looked bitten.
"Yeah me too." Ant lied. "What do you do?"
Petri stilled for the first time and Ant raised an expectant eyebrow.
"Uhm. I work for my uncle. He runs a business."
That explains some things then. The guy roughly fit the picture of an awkward nepo baby.
"Nice, I work in a store. Boring, I know." Ant said, not mentioning that he quit the job two weeks ago. A customer had tried to return a broken, empty blender, and when he had tried to explain why he couldn't give her her money back she had gone completely ballistic, screaming at him for 15 minutes and almost making him cry, and he hadn't shown up since. He still felt pathetic about it.
"I don't think you're boring." Petris eyes were suddenly right on his own, and in the dim light of the club they looked entirely black. Ant swallowed and felt his face heat up, despite himself. He coughed to cover the clumsy gap of communication, unable to stand how vulnerable he suddenly felt. Too open to attack.
"Well, thanks. I'm glad you don't think so, at least." He joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Ant finished his drink, feeling the alcohol burn his throat, and checked his phone again. 2:38AM.
"Wanna get some air?"








The cold night air felt like heaven on his skin, and he sighed heavily. A few people were lingering outside the club, mostly standing around smoking, vaping, or chatting about whatever. The neon signs reflected in the leftover puddles of yesterdays rainstorm, a dance of urban aurora borealis. The letters "DEEP END" flickering above the open double doors.
"Do you smoke?" Ant asked, fishing for a cig.
"No."
"Sounds healthy." He said, lighting it. He blew a cloud of smoke and watched it disappear into the night.
"Is your date here, or is she also holding out on you?"
"She uh-" He dragged the scuffed heel of his boot over the asphalt, scraping. "I don't have a date."
Ant blinked at him.
"But you said...?"
"I saw you earlier. And I wanted to meet you."
"Oh." What the fuck was with this guy that made him get under Ants skin so easily? He scratched at his arm, trying to displace the discomfort of emotions.
"Well, now we've met. Was it worth it?"
Petri stared at him, and Ant felt oddly naked, despite the well-worn bomber jacket shielding him.
"Yes."
Ant sucked on the cigarette, his cheeks hollow, and he let the smoke trickle out his nostrils.
"So, why'd you want to meet me?"
Petri was silent, breaking eye contact to stare at his own shoes.
"Been a shit day, honestly." His voice wavered with uncertainty. "Trouble with my uncle."
Ant cocked his head.
"The one you work for."
"Mmhm."
He huffed in polite sympathy.
"Sounds rough. I'm sure it'll turn out fine." He tried to assuage.
"It won't."
"Oh. Okay."
Ant turned towards the club, watching the way the second "E" in DEEP kept going out. The sign looked blurry.
"Huh." He mumbled, taking another drag and rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh nothing, just feeling a little... Weird." He admitted. "Sorry."
"Maybe it's the alcohol." Petri offered.
"Probably."
Ant leaned on the wall, taking a deep breath. His skin felt sensitive and tight.
"Yeah, sorry, I'm a bit drunk I think." He said, a slur in his voice.
Petri was next to him, suddenly, a hand on his back, steadying him carefully.
"It's alright. It's late, do you need help getting home?"
Ant closed his eyes, letting himself lean on Petris frame, feeling his warmth, his breathing. He felt surprisingly solid, underneath the baggy clothes.
"No, no, I'm good." It didn't sound very convincing.
He tried to take a step forward, but swayed. Who turned off the gravity.
"It's okay, I've got you." Petri mumbled, his breath tickling his neck.
"Fuck, I feel sick."
"Do you need to throw up?"
"No. I don't know. Maybe."
Ant felt like he was falling, everything around him spinning, the only constant his own heartbeat, and the hand on his back, supporting him.
"Come with me."
He couldn't protest, his feet dragging uselessly over the ground as he was gently manhandled.
"Where are we going."
"Don't worry, I'm here."
"Nnnh. Okay." Ant slurred, fighting his numb lips to drool out the words like spit.
He blinked once, heavily, and distantly noted the ground under his feet looked different now. He blinked again.
The jangling of keys, the click of something being unlocked, he felt cold metal against his side, leaning on it. Then the world turned by ninety degrees, and he thought he must've collapsed, but his face met something soft that smelled sharp, clean, like a hospital. He realized he was lying down.
"Shhh, it's okay."
"What's going on."
"You're safe, don't worry."
Hands gently arranged him into a comfortable position on his side, shuffling noises dull and far away. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and he could feel himself drifting off, despite the nagging feeling of anxiety crawling up his spine.
"Don't leave." He begged, his voice weak but desperate. He didn’t know why.
The shuffling stopped.
"I won't."
"Promise."
A hand on his face, cold against his hot, hot skin.
"I'll keep you safe, I promise."