The girl at the bar is not beautiful.

She perches on her stool like an albatross ready to disappear into the sky, as if there's so much life in her that her body can't stay still. Felicity wonders if the girl would explode if she touched her, a livewire spraying gasoline into the air, or if she would wrap her soft hand around Felicity's wrist and pull her close---a hand that currently balances a glass stem between chubby fingers, the bottom of her drink clinking against the countertop ever so often.

In the faded yellow light melting through the ceiling, the girl at the bar is unbearably ethereal, a violet-haired goddess crafted from broken hearts and sandcastle dreams. Her stomach peeks out from a baby blue crop top that Felicity would never even dare to own as she twirls the stem of her glass between bluntly-shaved nails, something green and deadly spilling over its crystal lip. She ignores the emerald drops now staining the counter in favour of staring at the whisky bottles lining the back of the bar, scarlet mouth pursed as if appraising their brands.

The girl at the bar is not beautiful. She's something much more.

Felicity yearns. She yearns to slip up to the girl and take her home, to see if she loves as sweetly as she laughs. She yearns to press kisses to her golden neck and run her hands over her thighs. She yearns to learn her name until it's the only word she knows.

But she can't. Because she longs, yearns, wants---but she can't have.

"Fels?"

She hates that nickname.

Doug snaps his knobbly fingers in front of her face.

She hates it when people do that.

"Fels, you're not listening. You're very distracted tonight. This lack of focus is why you keep missing out on that promotion, you know."

She hates it when Doug tells her that the promotion could have been hers if she just changed this, or that, or everything, actually, as if he hadn't been the one to pass up on her for said promotion. It makes her regret signing up for that stupid matchmaking site, especially since she hadn't expected her first blind date to be with her boss.

"Fels, I'm trying to talk here. Could you please show me a little respect and talk to me? I'm your boss, you know."

She hates her job, actually. But it's the only one she has, so Felicity forces her lips into a grin so wide that it hurts her cheeks. "Sorry. I've been a bit tired recently."

Doug frowns sympathetically, patting her hand. Felicity instantly regrets leaving her palm in the center of the table and wonders if it's too late to pull her arm away. "You've been overworking yourself lately, Fels. Pretty girls like you shouldn't work so hard." Pretty girls like you shouldn't work at all. The words go unsaid, but Felicity hears it in the slant of his voice, the curl of his fat upper lip.

She looks down at the table, because it's easier than looking at Doug---old enough to be her father, with his grey-streaked hair and weathered jaw. She supposes he would have been handsome five years ago, but staring at the rolled-up cuffs of his checked shirt, she can't bring herself to even bother to care about him being handsome at all. "I've got to keep food on the table, Doug."

"If you like, I could put food on the table for you. All you'd have to do is cook it."

Felicity lifts her glass to her lips---plain water, as always, despite Doug's insistence on her having something a little stronger. She doesn't trust herself when she's drunk. Doesn't trust him to get her drunk. "I've never been much of a cook."

"Shame." His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Truthfully, Felicity wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for that incessant urge to please her parents thrumming at her chest. She'd have thrown herself out of the nearest window the moment her blind date turned out to be her boss if Doug hadn't been exactly the kind of guy her parents would adore---mainly for the fact that he's a guy. (And rich, and old, and mildly sexist, but Felicity tries not to think about that side of her parents.)

The girl at the bar is standing up, hair a lilac tumble down her back, strands falling into her face and brushing against her ridiculously long lashes. Her crop top rises up her chest as she stretches, exposing the tiniest hint of underboob. She's not wearing a bra. Felicity's not sure if she wants to be her or fuck her. Her bright green drink rests between her fingertips, and she's holding her glass like she wants to drop it. Felicity wonders if this girl, the girl at the bar with her violet hair and rippling curves and lazy dark eyes, spills feelings like she spills her drinks, keeping them close to the edge until they tip over with wild abandon, lost to the dust and dirt of the wind.

"What's your body count?" Doug blurts suddenly, and Felicity chokes on her water.

"What?" The word comes out a little louder than she intends it to, tumbling out of her mouth like a bullet train as she stares at her boss in pure shock.

"It's a deal breaker for me when women have high body counts. So if we're going to make this a regular thing, I figured it would be good to get that out of the way first."

She should run. She should punch him in the face and escape before he's collected his senses. She should fake an urgent call from some dying grandmother and get the hell out. But he's exactly the kind of guy her parents would like, and he holds her only ticket to promotion in his hands, so she musters her brightest smile. "Zero." It's not exactly a lie---he doesn't need to know about the wandering hands travelling down dresses and up skirts, all the lights off because feelings are easier to hide in the dark.

"That's good. Pretty girls like you shouldn't be giving themselves away so easily."

"What's yours?"

"I don't think that's relevant. I'm your boss, Fels."

Bastard.

The girl at the bar has one arm braced on her stool, swaying gently like she's drunk. She's not---she'd come in later than Felicity and ordered only one drink, and the table's touched more of it than she has. But still, she wobbles in pale blue boots that would be gaudy on anyone else but somehow suit her to perfection, fringe cascading over her heart-shaped face. It makes Felicity a little self-conscious of her own forehead, how it's always been too big for her face and how her hairline's already drawing away even though she's barely twenty-eight.

"Are you going to order any food?" Felicity fidgets with her glass---they've been here for an hour on an empty stomach, and she'd rather talk to her food than to Doug even though the bar's greasy offerings probably have more calories in one dish than she eats in a week.

"I thought you said you were on a diet."

"That doesn't mean I don't eat." Talking to Doug about her low-carb, low-fat diets is like talking to a wall about politics. He's the type of person to hear diet and automatically assume a woman is starving herself.

The girl at the bar is no longer at the bar. She's walking in their direction---probably headed for the washroom---drink still balanced precariously in her palm. She staggers like a professional drunkard, hips wiggling in her hot pink leggings. In the dimness of the bar, she is a bolt of colour, rose and violet and baby blue against the backdrop of an endless night.

"I'm so glad I matched with you," Doug says, gripping Felicity's hand tighter. The faint sheen of sweat lines his palm, tacky on Felicity's skin. "I've wanted to ask you out since forever. You seem so down-to-earth unlike the other girls in the office."

She knows what he really means is: Your parents have conditioned you into keeping your mouth shut when you don't like something and I like that. Also, you dress like a nun.

Felicity fiddles with the yellow hem of her cardigan. It's a bit too bright for how she's feeling right now, but she figures it'll help her smile a little more, even if she really doesn't want to. The girl at the bar is behind them now, one hand stretched out like she's about to use their table for support. Felicity knows she should warn Doug in case the gorgeous stranger turns out to be a pickpocket or worse, but she can't find it in herself to care. "I guess I was just raised well."

Doug nods approvingly. "Your parents brought you up well. But I think they should have told you that working out too much isn't good for you, you know." He gestures to her toned arms, sequestered beneath her cardigan and baggy pink blouse. "Most men don't like muscular women."

The gorgeous stranger stumbles. Her drink sloshes out of her glass and cascades over Doug's head in a neon green waterfall.

Felicity freezes instantly, rooted to her seat like she's bracing herself for a bomb to go off. Doug isn't quite so slow.

"Motherfucker!" he screams, so loudly that the entire bar turns towards them. He springs to his feet, noxious green liquid dripping off his hair and down his shirt. Felicity would laugh if she weren't so terrified. "You fucking bitch! Do you have any idea how much this fucking cost?"

The girl mumbles something that could be an affirmation or a chuckle, head lolling to the side. Her crimson mouth parts, lips shiny with spit, but Felicity doesn't miss the clarity in her sharp dark eyes, gleaming like a wolf assessing its prey. Definitely not drunk. Doug doesn't notice, though, too busy screaming profanities and dabbing at his shirt with the threadbare tissues set on the table. Felicity knows she should do something, but she's always been passive at heart, so she sits in place and watches Doug swear his heart out, her mouth hanging open dumbly---fingers trembling in her lap like they always do when she doesn't quite know what to do with them.

He slams his hand down on the table, making Felicity jump. "Look, I'll call you later, okay? I need to get home and get this fucking shit out of my fucking shirt before it stains. Thanks a lot, you fat fucking whore." The last sentence is a sneer hurled at the gorgeous stranger behind him, who seems too out of it to care---and if Felicity hadn't seen the glint of amusement in her gaze, she would actually believe the act.

The moment Doug disappears out the door, the girl's head snaps up straight, scarlet lips morphing into a cheeky little smile. She sets her now-empty glass down on the table, and as she moves to Felicity's side, Felicity realises that the stranger doesn't walk, she glides like she's moonwalking on air, hardly a care lining her supple figure.

"Hi," the stranger greets lightly, leaning down to rest her elbows on the table in front of Felicity. Up close, she's apple-cheeked and button-nosed, a bright flush lighting up her face that seems to be more from excitement than alcohol. Her eyes are bright and sly, gleaming with the satisfaction of a job well done. She's so pretty that Felicity finds her words sticking in her throat, every drop of oxygen rushing out of her lungs. "Sorry. You looked like you really wanted to run. Want to join me at the bar?"

❥

As she settles onto a worn stool that creaks beneath her every move, Felicity thinks about how she really shouldn't be doing this. She should text Doug, ask him if he's okay, definitely not have a drink with the girl who's just accidentally-on-purpose poured a martini on him. But here she is, gazing into the stranger's lively eyes, transfixed on every molar of her sweet smile.

"So," the girl begins, hand nursing a glass of water, the ice cubes inside clinking together gently. "Sorry for ruining your date. I saw you looking like a deer in headlights and kind of just went for it. I hope you didn't like him."

Felicity opens her mouth in a no, then decides against it and shakes her head instead. If anyone she knows hears her, she'll be going home unemployed. "He's my boss, actually."

The stranger whistles lowly, stubby fingers dancing across the rim of her cup. "Darling, I don't know much about corporate shit, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to date your bosses."

"We...um, this was a blind date. I signed up for a matchmaking site, and I guess he did too. I didn't know my date was with him until he walked through the door."

"Oh, shit. That's rough." The girl grins, a flash of crooked teeth that stretch all the way to her eyes. Her two front incisors poke out from the rest, gently prodding her bottom lip when she smiles. "I'm Clover."

She's got a glint in her eye that makes Felicity wonder whether that's actually her real name---she doesn't think it is. She thinks about how it's like to be Felicity: quiet, passive Felicity, only speaking when she's spoken to, who works out three times a day and eats keto and does more paperwork than anyone in the office only to miss out on promotions because the boss thinks she belongs in the kitchen. She wonders what it would be like to be someone else. Then she takes her life as it is and throws it out the window. "I'm Fern."

Clover laughs. She's got a nice laugh---loud and airy and fragile like a bomb, igniting the livewire of Felicity's nerves and setting her blood alight. "Fern, huh? Makes sense that two chicks with plant names would find each other in this kind of joint," she chuckles.

"What a coincidence," Felicity replies, guilt twisting the bottom of her stomach. She reminds herself that it's all make-believe. That just for tonight, she can lose herself, pretend to be Fern---who is gorgeous and confident and more like Clover than herself.

Resting her chin in her palm, Clover leans forward with a conspiratorial smirk. "Well, Fern, your boss is a dick."

"He really is. Sorry you had to waste your drink on him."

"Nah." Clover's grin widens. "Honestly, I fucking hate appletinis."

Felicity lifts her glass to her lips, sipping slowly. She knows she doesn't look half as good as Clover does when she's drinking, because Clover drinks like most people dance---like a swan, graceful and so enviably free that Felicity feels the weight in her own chest. She wonders how old Clover is, with her heart-shaped face and button nose and tie-dyed hair, dark roots blazing through the lilac locks cupping her rosy cheeks. "Then why'd you order one?"

In Clover's hand, her glass is a weapon---sharp yellow light fracturing the ice cubes into a thousand blades that slice her face into a million facets. She holds her water with a strange sort of purpose, fingers dancing over the transparent lip, flashing, flashing, flashing. "Thought you'd like it." She grins, teeth pointed, too big for her mouth. It's beautiful. Felicity wants to bottle up that smile and keep it close to her chest for a rainy day. "I've been staring at you since I walked in, you know? You were sitting there looking like you'd rather migrate to Alaska than play house with that guy for another second, and you were so fucking gorgeous that I couldn't breathe for a solid minute." Clover winks, and Felicity feels her face flush. It's not like her, really, but Clover is stunning---all brash confidence and honeyed curves and pretty words, and Felicity wants. She wants so badly.

Subconsciously, Felicity leans in closer, breath short on her lips. "So why'd you order an appletini, then?"

"You look like you'd be the kind of girl to enjoy an appletini. Thought it might impress you." Clover gestures to Felicity's form, wrist flicking up and down. "Look at you, all tall and muscular and stunning. You're almost unapproachable, you know, even in that cardigan. Just like an appletini. The colour turns most people off. But take a sip, and it's sweeter than anything you've ever tasted before." She cocks her head to the side. Dangerous. She makes Felicity want to dive into her ocean and drown. "I think you're a little like that."

Felicity laughs, a breathless little chuckle that doesn't sound like it's coming out of her own mouth. But then she remembers: tonight, she is Fern. Not Felicity Farr with her dumpy cardigans and need to please. Fern. "I don't really drink, actually. Not even appletinis."

Clover's grin doesn't falter. "So that's one thing I got wrong. It's okay." Clover presses her plump cheek into the heel of her palm coyly. "I'll get more right tomorrow."

The sentence hits Felicity like a truck, throwing her back in her seat and flinging her thudding heart across the room. "Tomorrow?"

"Ah." Clover's fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling Felicity's hand to her body. Felicity lets her, giving in easily as Clover sets Felicity's palm on her thigh. Beneath her touch, Clover's skin is warm, plush and pliant under her fingers, like the wax and wane of the tides. Something hot and dark blazes in Clover's eyes, barely-concealed desire that lights a fire in Felicity's bones. She leans in, scarlet lips hovering just centimeters away from Felicity's cheek. "I suppose I'll have to say it now. Fern, I want to wake up next to you tomorrow, because I want to take you home tonight."

In the golden glow of the flickering lamps swinging above their heads, Clover's tanned skin shines like the sun, stretched over tiny bones encased in clothes even tinier. Light bounces off her wide pupils, almost blinding in the eye of the storm. Her hands are small, pressed against Felicity's wrist in a silent question she doesn't need to vocalise. The multitudes between them seem to stretch across the world, filling the silence with tension so thick Felicity can taste it on her tongue.

Felicity would never agree. She'd mumble something about having to work the next day---not a lie---and crawl back into bed. She'd leave without even getting this stunning stranger's number and text her boss for another date out of pure shame. She'd cry in the bathroom for an hour because she's done it again---looking at girls the way she shouldn't, just when she was getting better, just when they were all about to be okay.

But she's not Felicity right now. Tonight, she's Fern, so she whispers, "Okay," and lets Clover whisk her out the door.

They fall into Clover's bed like they've done this a thousand times before, so desperate for hands on thighs and lips on skin that Felicity hardly even glances at the rest of the apartment. Clover kisses her everywhere except her mouth, trailing fingertips across her trembling limbs and leaving wildfires in her wake. She takes Felicity apart on her fingers until she burns in the flames of their own creation, shaking into a million pieces. The universe narrows and explodes like it was never there, leaving behind nothing but the shards of what had once been Felicity Farr, glittering embers scattered across every inch of her body.

Later, when moonlight's spilling over the worn mattress and Felicity's idly tracing circles over Clover's smooth, bare skin, Clover presses a kiss to the shell of her ear and murmurs, "I'm leaving for the seaside tomorrow. Come with me."

Despite being drunk off something far stronger than alcohol could ever be, Felicity's fingers halt their journey, freezing in place. "You don't know me."

"No." Clover pushes herself up on her elbows, tangled violet hair falling into her face. In the silver haze of the moon, sheets kicked to her ankles, she's the most beautiful thing Felicity's ever seen. Her skin ripples like it's been carved from marble, the echo of the night trailing up her soft belly and pliant thighs until it sears her face into the vestiges of Felicity's mind. For a moment, Felicity wonders if one night will be enough. She knows the answer before the question even leaves her mind. "But I know enough about you to know that I want you to stick around. Besides, travelling alone gets lonely sometimes."

Felicity sinks into the pillow beneath her head, chestnut hair a rough spray against the soft white cotton. "I don't know you."

Clover makes a distressed noise in the back of her throat before pulling herself into a sitting position, shoving the blanket off her petite feet so they shine bare. "My name is Clover Chai. I'm a university student, and I'm twenty-two years old. I just had possibly the best sex of my life and I really want you to run away with me, because you're absolutely gorgeous and I can't wait a day longer to get to know you better." She evidently picks up on the apprehension in Felicity's stance, because she turns to her with wide, pleading eyes. "It's only for a week, I promise. Please, Fern? Run away with me?"

Felicity shouldn't. She can't. Not when she's got so much paperwork to complete if she wants to end up in line for the next promotion and her parents will undoubtedly go nuclear if she disappears off the radar for even a day. She doesn't know this girl at all, this university student with hands like molten gold and the most stunning body she's ever held. "I'm six years older than you, you know."

"Not a big difference when we're in our twenties. I don't care, Fern. Come with me."

My name's not Fern. It was supposed to be, but only for tonight. How can I keep letting you call me that when I'm lying to you?

From the foot of the bed where she'd thrown her prim blue trousers, Felicity's phone jingles. She knows who it is: Doug, with the call he'd promised her, probably to bitch about the motherfucker who ruined his shirt and schedule another date that will undoubtedly go just as horribly as the first one. She lets it ring until the faint tones of the device fade into oblivion, nothing left but the silence of the storm.

One-night stands are only supposed to last for a night. But there's something infinite in Felicity's mind as she pulls Clover back into the sheets, lemon bursting across her tongue as the waves swallow her whole.

word count: 3841 words

HI so this chapter is like 53 minutes late because i'm a hoe. actually, it was supposed to be finished earlier, but the chinese new year dinners start coming and they don't stop coming, and i have to go to every single one of them because i'm on an angpao-collecting spree and red packets = money. so. yes. i apologise.

lol this is turning out to be more of a mood piece than anything? idk tbh i'm planning for it to be kinda short (9-10 chapters only!) and just sort of down-to-earth, so it'll mainly just be lots of feels and terrible writing disguised as pretty metaphors. because that's what i do best.

so. anygays anygays i hope you liked this chapter!!! i'm not too happy with it but i think it's not THAT bad for my standards, so i'm gonna post it anyway. also bruh i had to cut down so much of the 'sex scene' (which is not really a sex scene but i'm pretty sure we all know they did the do) because i'm a guy lol and ik someone's gonna accuse me of fetishsizing lesbians if i like write more explicit shreksy time xDDD

please let me know what you think of this chapter, and constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated!

i'll probably be (mostly) offline for the next two days, as i'll be travelling outstation with my parents for my dad's birthday. but i'll def catch up with everything once i get back! <3

love y'alls mwah mwah also good luck my fellow onc peeps

xoxo, Alex