“your lips on
my skin
and I crumble into
wild little
butterflies.”

When I woke up, I sure as heck did not feel refreshed. If anything, I wanted to curl up under the duvet again and doze off for the rest of the century.

Except that I didn't really get to do that, because I realized that this wasn't my bed, or the bed I had grown quite accustomed to in Luce's apartment. That alone made me open my eyes and look around the familiar hotel room.

I stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, gathering all my thoughts, before looking over at the other bed in this very huge hotel room. I was surprised, however, when I saw that the other bed was empty. 

Alastair wasn't here.

That further woke me up and I found myself looking over at the bathroom. The lights were off.

Where could he have possibly gone off to? More importantly, was I that into my sleep that I hadn't even heard him leaving?

I exhaled heavily and sat up, pushing the duvet away and almost immediately missing its warmth. Once I was up and conscious, I walked over towards the curtains and pulled them apart just a little to see the dark night sky outside. The streets outside were pretty busy, even if it was way past evening right now.

Looks like I'd be awake tonight, I thought, since I slept basically the entire day.

I breathed out another deep sigh and went over towards my bag, picking out a nice and soft hoodie, which happened to be a black one, and some sweatpants before stepping inside the bathroom. 

The next hour went by as I took my precious time to shower. It was refreshing, all right. By the time I got out with my freshly showered hair pulled up into a towel, Alastair had still not come back.

It worried me a little, especially because he hadn't left a note or sent me a text to let me know where he was. But then I told myself not to make a fuss over it and went over to the mini wooden kitchen just beside the closet doors. It wasn't until I was in there and looking over at the small kitchen counter, that I noticed a handful of takeout boxes, untouched, placed on it.

I slowly stepped towards them, pushing them around until I saw a small note stuck on top of one of the boxes.

Gone out for a bit. I'll be back in a while.

Granted, the note was from Alastair, but it was still a bit scary, especially since there was no name on the note. But I figured it must've been him who left me that note and the ample amount of takeout food, before he had left for God knows where.

I didn't touch the food though, because I wasn't feeling hungry. Not at the moment. I felt worried, yes, but not hungry. That's exactly why I opened the mini fridge and took out a bottle of flavored sparkling water (I had never in my life felt like drinking any, but the apple-flavored one was pretty good) and settled down on the couch, surfing through the TV and waiting for Alastair to come back.

Another hour or so passed by and Alastair still hadn't returned.

It got to a point that I started staring at the wall clock instead, watching it come closer to striking midnight, and getting worried out of my mind.

Why had he left without waking me up?

I ended up calling him at around half an hour past midnight, and to my utmost disappointment, it went straight to his voicemail. I started pacing across the huge room, frowning and worriedly biting my nails.

Why would he leave me here all alone?

Another half an hour passed by and I still didn't get a call back from him. I knew if I stayed here in this room one more minute, I'd either end up pulling my hair out, or my heart--which was anxiously racing in my chest--might burst. 

I was an overthinker, and let me tell you, it's no fun being that. Quite the opposite actually.

So I ended up pulling on my sneakers and my leather jacket, the only jacket I could find in my bag, over my hoodie before heading out of the room. I barely remembered to lock the door before running (and I mean that literally) down the hallways and the stairs and towards the hotel reception desk.

There were a few people there in the lobby, looking as relaxed as I was not.

"Hey," I directed that towards the receptionist. She looked up from her phone and gave me a clueless, yet polite smile. "Um, I checked in here with a friend of mine. Did you maybe see him leaving?" I asked her. "He's like six feet tall, black hair, grey eyes?"

Her eyes widened a bit in recognition, or at least that's what I hoped it was. 

"Oh yes. I think it was him who came here a few hours ago." I wanted to correct her that it hadn't been just a few hours. "He, uh, left before asking for a nearby bar around here."

Bar. Alastair was at a bar?

I must've gone silent at that for a little too long since the receptionist spoke up again, "Do you want help on anything else, ma'am?"

It felt a bit hard to form words, and maybe that was because of what the receptionist had just told me. About a bar. Or maybe it was just the fact that someone had called me ma'am for the first time in my life.

"Uh, no." I shook my head. "Wait, actually yes. What bar was it that you told him about?"

It was a bar named Weston Rock Bar. And apparently, it was a well-known one since the cab driver I got a hold on seemed to not even ask me for any directions (which I'm glad for because hello? I suck at giving directions, remember?) when I told him where I needed to go.

We reached there in just about five minutes.

After paying him, I stepped out of the cab and watched it vanish into the dark streets ahead. The bar seemed to be crowded, judging from the loud music and the crowded doorways. It seemed like a place I wouldn't want to be inside, not right now. The dark and almost empty streets around the bar didn't seem to help my anxiousness. Not even a bit.

God, Alas, why? Why did you have to come here?

I tried my luck and thought about calling him again. Maybe he'd pick up this time. Maybe I wouldn't have to go in there and search for him. 

But he didn't pick up.

I eyed the glass doors warily. What if he had left already and I went in there to not find him at all? What if some random creepo made a move on me? That alone made me feel a bit nauseous.

When I went inside the bar from the opened glass doors, even the buff looking bouncer, all in black, didn't even bother to ask me for an ID--which I was actually grateful for. I forgot all about it though, when I stepped inside and everything seemed to hit me at once.

The claustrophobia, in particular.

I'm going to be honest. The last time (and the only time) I ever stepped inside a bar, or was ever near one, was when Tara had forced Steph and I to come along with her on one of her one-night-stand adventures. 

I'm telling you, it disgusted me to even think about it, the fact that Tara was so casual about one-night stands when I couldn't even straight up look a guy in the eye.

That bar hadn't been this loud. And that bar hadn't obviously been crowded either, not with these many males and females, dancing around in their sweaty and alcoholic bodies, being way too intimate for a normal fucking night.

I couldn't stand that. I really couldn't.

Out of nowhere, it felt hard to breathe. I felt hot in my hoodie when I was, not too long ago, freezing my ass outside. Before anyone could have stepped within my personal space, I stumbled towards the small bar at one corner, my gaze fixated at the bartender who seemed to be the only one not tongue-locked with someone else.

"Excuse me," I had to shout over the loud, horrible music. The bartender guy seemed to hear me though, because he looked up from wiping the bar counter and gave me a smile. "I'm looking for someone. Have you...seen this guy. He's like this tall, dark haired, grey eyes?"

The bartender guy had really red hair. Like fire, I noticed.

"Oh, yeah." He nodded, going back to wiping the counter and the numerous glasses on it. He glanced up at me and there seemed to be an almost mocking tone in his voice. "Not like everyone here has dark hair, darling."

See, this is why I hated such places.

I inhaled a deep breath, trying to pull my shit together before it managed to fall apart. 

"Look, it would really help me if you saw him. He probably came here a few hours ago."

The bartender guy raised his brows at me, a bit cluelessly, I must add. But then again, I couldn't have blamed him. There really were a lot of people here. Amongst the numerous faces, I didn't think I could've spotted Alastair's. I pulled up my hood, quite aware of the stares I was getting.

"All right then. I guess." I murmured to myself before turning around. I can't find him here, I told myself, and I wasn't stupid to stay here either. Anywhere but here.

Right when I was about to leave, I felt someone touch my shoulder, and even though it was a light touch, I still jerked away out of panic. Guess this place really brought out the paranoia in me.

"Woah, easy!" It was the bartender guy, looking sheepish as he pulled his hand away. I would've said something not-so-nice, but he spoke up before me, "I think I found your guy. I did see him coming here a few hours ago."

That seemed to relieve me, a little if not too much. "Really? Where?"

He pointed off somewhere behind me and for one second, I thought he was messing with me. I mean, I did seem like the type to mess with, even if I was dressed up all in black. 

But when I looked over where he was pointing, I realised that he wasn't, infact, shitting with me.

Because I saw him. Alastair.

"Thank fuck." That's what I said to myself, not the bartender. To the bartender, I gave a grateful smile before rushing towards Alastair.

He wasn't exactly away from the crowd and so it meant that I had to squeeze past various bodies, which caused me to shudder more than once. Though it was worth it when I stepped near Alastair's familiar form and recognised his jacket even if he wasn't exactly facing me.

I stopped short, however, when I noticed someone else--a bit familiar--with him. The waitress at that coffee shop we had stopped by this morning.

And they were kissing.

"Oh," I breathed out in surprise, which took seconds to turn into anger, and then into utter embarrassment. I averted my eyes before turning around once again.

My heart was racing a bit too wildly as I made my way outside the bar, breathing in a gulp of fresh air, and trying to get the image out of my head. Of Alastair and that waitress making out like they pretty much didn't care about anything else. Like Alastair didn't care about leaving me all alone in that stupid hotel room, without even telling me where he was going.

I avoided eye contact with everyone and continued walking away from the loud noise and that claustrophobic environment. I wasn't too far away from the bar when I spotted a small bench, not just one but a few of them, lined across the small yard beside the bar, empty and secluded enough.

I went over towards it and sat down. The numbing cold out here helped me to stop thinking, especially about the absolute easiness with which Alastair had been kissing that waitress. It hurt a little, it really did, but I forced myself not to pay too much attention to it.

I wrapped my arms around myself and looked over at the bar doors. People came out and went in. None of them was Alastair.

He must've been drunk, I realized. 

And then it seemed to sadden me even further when I realized he didn't tell me that he was having the urge to drink again. He didn't talk to me about it. I guess it shouldn't have hurt like it did at that moment. Maybe I had started expecting too much from him. Maybe I needed to be stopped.

I blinked and looked away from the bar, mainly because each time someone came out of those doors, I expected it to be him. But when it wasn't him, the small lump in my throat would painfully become obvious, and I'd just feel stupid all over again.

I shifted a little on the wooden bench, shivering under the cold, waiting under the dark, lonely sky.

He would come out, wouldn't he?

I got my answer a little moment after.

When it seemed like he really wouldn't be leaving the bar tonight, and when I was probably few seconds away from catching hypothermia, I saw him rushing out of the bar, stumbling a little. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I finally exhaled, noticing that there was no brunette waitress anywhere near him.

He stopped near the exit and looked around. I decided to call out his name, but he somehow looked at me first, even from that far, squinting his eyes in what I suppose was surprise. And then he was walking towards me.

"What are you doing out here?" The obvious slur in his voice didn't go unnoticed by me.

I responded with a somewhat strained smile. 

"Waiting for you." I told him before pulling my hoodie sleeves over my freezing fists. Even my lips felt numb by now.

"But." He was still staring at me, with that slight curious tilt of his head. "You could've just come inside."

I stared at him and I think my smile slipped away. "It's not really my type of place." Scary was what that place was.

A very tiny frown formed on his face before he slumped down beside me on the bench. I noticed the lack of sleep then, and maybe even the emptiness on his face. He seemed pale and ghostly under the moonlight. For one second, it almost felt like he had gone too far out of my reach, slipped out of my reach, and that scared me a little. It scared me because I was so used to having him around.

"Did I do something wrong?" It was just a whisper that escaped his lips.

"I don't think so. Why?"

His eyes found mine then and even if he wasn't that close, I could've seen the...openness in them. It almost seemed like he wasn't even trying to hide anything, which should have surprised me, but I was a little too occupied with my self-misery.

"You look sad," he told me.

I blinked in response, stunned, and looked away. How could he tell that so easily, even in that intoxicated state of his? 

How was that even possible?

"I was just worried that you...disappeared for hours without telling me." I decided not to deny what he had just said, because yes, I was sad. And maybe, just for tonight, I didn't want to hide that. 

I glanced up at him, then added in a soft smile. "Maybe answer my calls the next time you leave like this, yeah?"

He waited a few seconds before nodding. "Okay." Okay.

I felt my eyes stinging a little. The cold was truly getting unbearable at this point.

"I...I don't really remember what happened." He added in a confused whisper. "Or why did I even go there. I called someone and then I was there the next second."

I hummed in response, knowing fully well who he must've called.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I asked him, feeling my teeth chattering a bit.

"You were sleeping."

"So?" I asked. "I thought I helped earlier when you...when you felt like you needed to drink?"

His grey eyes looked incredibly bright under the moonlight, a silver that felt too entrancing. 

"I know. I just...I don't know." He looked away then, frowning once again. He seemed drunk, but not highly intoxicated. It assured me a bit, if not all. "I don't want to keep on telling you crazy shit that happens with me all the time."

That surprised me enough to keep on staring at him. 

"Why not?" I asked.

"You'd grow tired of me. Eventually."

I couldn't not frown at that. "What makes you say that?"

His gaze wasn't at me anymore, but up at the sky as he leaned back on the bench, his head angled upwards. 

"You're different." He said. "You don't go after things, or people, that most of the world goes after. You're...the only kind of different that I understand. That I'm willing to understand."

My throat was going dry, very slowly.

"And that's why you'd grow tired of me." He closed his eyes this time. "Because I'm that one person who's so predictable. I'd fuck things up one way or another. You wouldn't want to like a person like me."

He's drunk, I reminded myself, that's why he's saying that.

"I wouldn't get tired of you." I replied in a whisper. "I really wouldn't, Alas."

He opened his eyes then and stared at me, looking a little confused. "Why didn't you like it then?"

"Like...what?"

"When I kissed you."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"You didn't like it when I kissed you." He repeated, much slower this time, waiting.

I didn't know what to say. Besides, the cold was making it hard for me to think properly.

"Is it because you have a boyfriend back at home?" He asked, so much softly than before.

"No." I spoke, then frowned. "Alas, I don't have a boyfriend." Did I look like I have a boyfriend?

He blinked at me, looking a little lost and a little confused. 

"Then why?"

I shook my head.

"You can't just bombard me with such questions." A small, stunned laugh escaped my lips out of mere anxiousness.

He was still staring at me, but I found it hard to look back at him. Instead, I stared ahead, at nothing in particular.

"Okay." He said, sounding mainly dejected and maybe even hurt. "I'm sorry."

The crushed look on his face made me open my mouth in a hurry, "No, why are you apologising? It's not...I..."

He was waiting, listening closely. I had this strong urge to curse out loud. "I just don't like...going far with anyone."

He seemed confused.

It took everything in me to say the right words. "Relationships are scary." And overwhelming. So overwhelming.

I didn't really expect him to understand. I never expected anyone to understand. Especially when I, myself, was never too open. But then he smiled, a small smile, and I felt this extremely heavy weight lifting off of my shoulders. Just like that.

"They are, aren't they?" He murmured. "I guess we have that in common."

My lips curved up into a smile of my own, in relief. "Yeah?"

"Being scared of relationships," he said. "You deal with it by staying away. And I deal with it by these stupid, random one night flings."

I tried to keep the grimace hidden from my face, I really did, as I stood up, turning around and facing him. 

"Let's just go back. I have a feeling you won't really appreciate spilling so many deeds out here when you're drunk." It wasn't exactly a lie, even if the main reason I said that was because I couldn't handle it myself, all of this extreme vulnerable side of his. It almost felt wrong.

He didn't really object though, to my utmost relief. It took us quite some while to reach back to our hotel. Alastair was no help when he was drunk. I had to forcefully drag him with me, up the elevator and down the hallways before reaching our familiar hotel room. 

All of that, let me tell you, was a giant pain in the ass.

I was busy fiddling with the key card, trying to slide it in the given slot, but apparently doing something as easy as that was not, well, easy. At least not when Alastair, who was waiting behind me quite patiently, still in his drunken state, snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me back, flush against him.

My eyes widened in absolute surprise and I had to tighten my grip on the keycard when it threatened to fall out of my hands. 

"Alas, what the fuck?" I hissed, almost about to squirm out of his hold. But then I felt his soft hair tickling against my neck as he let out a small chuckle.

He was finding this amusing. I was not.

"I'm really tired, Ophelia." He said, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. "Can you open the door please?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My heart had started racing pretty fast and I was starting to hate how it took him almost nothing to get me all worked up like this. That's exactly why I found myself frowning.

After a few more tries, the door finally opened (thank God) and I struggled inside, with him still holding onto me. Once we were inside the familiar room, pretty much how I left it, I managed to turn around, grip his shoulders, and successfully push him away. 

Not much but enough to get him to look at me. He just grinned cheekily at me and at that one moment, I absolutely hated his goddamn beautiful face.

"You don't have to worry." He murmured, his voice slurring a lot more than earlier. "I won't remember any of this tomorrow, Ophelia. I drank some of that...tequila, I think. It was pretty strong." Obviously.

"All right." I couldn't help but furrow my brows in concern this time. This side of him was too open, too vulnerable, too unlike the Alastair I knew. I liked this side of him, but I hated that it took him alcohol to be like this. 

"I feel like throwing you over there." I nudged my head towards his bed. "Can I?"

He laughed that soft laugh and I didn't really see him leaning closer, at least not until he dipped his head a little, and pressed his lips against my cheek. My hands froze on his shoulders, and I think I froze too. He kept them lingering there for a bit too long. 

"I really really like you, Ophelia." He whispered, his lips a feather touch against my cheek.

I let out a shaky breath, blurting out the only words that came to mind. "Okay, you're not supposed to do that."

He pulled away and frowned half-heartedly. 

"I know. That's why I'm doing it when I'm drunk." He said.

I stared into his eyes, at the open honesty in them and they looked just like a beautiful grey storm, the kind of storm which was comforting, not the scary one. The kind of storm reminding you that you were not alone. 

It made my heart clench a little. It made me want to grip him a little tighter, scared that he might slip away, scared that this won't last long. I wanted to hug him too, tightly, because I was scared for myself. I was scared of what he was doing to me.

Instead, I stuck with scrunching up my nose at him and gripping his arm before pulling him towards his bed. I didn't really throw him on it, even if the thought was quite tempting (just kidding). But it was quite a struggle to push him down on it and not let him pull me along. 

I pulled his hands away from my waist and glared down at him, even though I was beyond flustered. But I decided to ponder over it when he was safely tucked into his bed, asleep.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked with a small, questioning (and adorable) frown, blinking up at me as I pulled onto his duvet.

I didn't think it was easy for me to form words at that moment, but I had to, especially when he was looking at me like that. 

"No, I'm not mad."

"You look mad," he pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and fixed him with another glare. I tried not to glare, but I couldn't not glare. I was heavily frustrated right now. Flustered too.

"Fine. I am mad." I stated, which just caused him to smile lazily up at me.

"I like it when you get mad."

"Alas, please don't." It came out like a desperately pathetic plea. He seemed to notice that too since the smile on his face turned into a grin. "Just don't."

"Okay." He obliged fortunately, which I guess was only because he seemed exhausted out of his mind, his eyelids drooping shut almost the very next second. "But I really think I deserve a goodnight kiss."

I had a lot of swear words to say at that moment, and I did in my head. But out in the open I just pulled on the duvet over him. I dearly hoped that he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow.

Sighing, I watched him fall asleep. I still had my hands clutching the duvet over him, staring at him all the while. This side of him, this happy, carefree side of him--and maybe even a bit annoying--was one that stuck out the most to me. 

He was happy and he wasn't tense or distracted. He was himself. Not misunderstood or mistaken for being crazy. He was just himself.

My heart almost crawled out of my chest when I leaned down towards him, trying not to make an obvious movement, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. It was just a small peck but still enough to send my heart racing again.

I knew clearly and fully well that this was exactly what I had been dreading. All of it.

"I really like you too, Alas."