***

Sweat gathered in beads along Sophia's neck, dampening the top of her dress. Thank god it was dark, so no one could see the sweat patch. Dark was a weird statement. It was dark, yes, but colourful flashes of light blinded eyes all around, a disco ball rendering everyone's sight into red splotches once they blinked. Her hearing reduced itself to deep beats off the DJ's turntables, and she simply knew her eardrums could not handle the blaring music that blasted through the stuffy underground. It's as if nightclubs want to disable everyone's senses.

Sophia sat with her back to the dancing, ten times sweatier bodies. She knew when she got off her bar stool, it would be slick with sweat from her thighs. Clubs were a disgusting place, no?

Still, it was a welcome distraction. The past week had been spent stuck at her desk, drilling biological definitions one-by-one into her head. And after that exam had scraped by, it was chemical definitions. The girl questions every day why she decided to take multiple sciences in university. So her roommate, Sira, managed to get her out of her study for one night. Said, you don't even need to drink. Just forget about  this whole topoisomerase shit.

Sophia responded, your DNA would be crying for help without topoisomerases.

Sira said, my DNA is perfect.

Sophia couldn't help but agree. Sira was freaking stunning. She was the daughter of Luis Enrique, the Spain national team's manager. Two years older than her, Sira was a saving grace to Sophia. She came to study in Barcelona a year ago without knowing anyone or anything after leaving her hometown of Seville. But her older cousin Katherine (also a saving grace), happened to know Sira Martinez, a competitive horse rider looking for a roommate for her (impressive) apartment in Barcelona. So thanks to her fucking fantastic cousin, Sophia has been living with Sira for the past year, now on the brink of finishing her first year of university.

Sophia twisted her head back, glimpsing her stunning roommate deep in the swarm of bodies, enjoying herself to the music, body swaying and grooving. Sira caught the younger girl looking out at her and immediately upturned an eyebrow, then forced herself out of the crowd.

Sira outstretches both of her hands to Sophia, strong enough to pull the girl off her stool. "Babes, I did not bring you out here tonight so you could mope at the bar. You don't even have a drink!"

"Technically, you said I didn't have to drink. And I'm DD."

"I also said we're going to make you forget about your exam, but when have you ever listened to me?" Sira grins. "Dance with me! How many more nights like this will we have? You'll be back to Seville as soon as exams are done!"

"Not that far, Sira. Two hours on the train, max." Sophia hefts out a sigh. "I suppose I can dance with you."

Sira snorts. "Don't say that like it's a chore, you love to dance."

And so, Sophia lets her roommate take both hands and sway them into the crowd barely a foot away from the bar, heat of bodies closing around them, but as Sophia swung her body to the enrapturing, blaring soundwaves, the music taking her to a new place alcohol could only ever imagine of. She doesn't even know what this DJ's playing, a random jumble of songs people once thought were cool, but the only thing that mattered was that this crazy amalgamation of sounds was able to take her senses away, make her forget the stress of all that topoisomerase shit, as Sira put it.

It enraptured her senses to the point she couldn't foresee a boulder knock itself into her side, colliding with her head — Sophia's vision blurs in the hypnosis of all the flashing neon in the dark, body swaying until a random hand breaks her fall, her ass still stinging from toppling back. She doesn't know how long she laid there, legs barricading the space around her in an asphyxiating wall until she felt another pair of random arms around her shoulders, shaking her, voice muffled, blurred into the music — and then the voice slowly became clearer, and clearer, until —

"Sophia! Soph!"

Sophia's eyes opened heavily to find the voice and the person whose arms remained around her, terrified in the back of her mind some random person taking her in a murky club — but her eyes focused despite all difficulty and all the throbbing of her head, the picture cleared and Sophia realised it was none other than Sira, the corners of her eyes softening at Sophia's consciousness.

Sophia couldn't say anything, so Sira hoisted her to her feet, and with one tight arm around her shoulders, guided her out of the dancing crowd they were stuck deep within. "Let's get you a seat, hon."

Sira did all the work in dragging Sophia out towards the bar, finding and heaving the younger girl on the stool Sophia perched on beforehand. Sira flags up the bartender.

"Any ice nearby?" She asks the male bartender.

The man nods. "Your friend isn't the first to black out on the dance floor."

Sira shoots him a look. "She didn't black out. She's not even drank tonight. Some drunken idiot collided into her head."

"Apologies," says the bartender, eyebrows raising. "Your ice, señorita. Hope your friend feels better." He dumps an ice pack on the bar bench, then fills a glass of water, sliding it to her with a click of the tongue. Sira downs the water herself, knowing it would do no good to someone half-conscious and woozy like Sophia. Besides, she's been drinking a little tonight, and her friend just got into a head collision. She needed to be sober.

Instead she peels back the sweaty strands of dark hair taped to Sophia's forehead, and where the darkness hid the redness of the lump on her head (half illuminated by the bar lights), Sira held the ice pack.

After a while of Sira standing there, waiting for Sophia's senses to return, repeatedly fixing the 19 year old's dress (because it was a velveted strappy ensemble, one whose straps continued to slip off her shoulders). Eventually, a hand clasped on top of Sira's — the one holding the ice pack — and Sophia gives the older girl a bleary look.

"This is why I don't dance, Saz."

Sira releases a relieved breath. She expected something worse. She claps a hand on Sophia's shoulder. "You're alright, babes. Think it's time to go home, I'll go call a taxi."

Sophia was quick to object, almost dropping the ice pack now that Sira's attention was on her phone. They came here with Sophia driving, because they knew she wasn't going to drink tonight. That was before someone decided to whack-a-mole her.

"I can drive!" Sophia tries to get off her stool, only to be pushed back down by Sira and her disapproving glance.

"No, babes, you can't. I'm calling Rico to pick your car up in the morning. We're cabbing it tonight."

"Not Rico! He never fixes his seat back to my position, or my mirror, and when he drives into the car park, my wheels are almost always in full-right-lock!"

Sira frowns. "So?"

Sophia sighs. "So, it adds extra minutes onto my reversal out of my parking bay. I don't have that time!"

"This is why you should reverse bay park, babes."

"Tell that to Rico! Your family driver seriously needs to up his game."

"You tell that to my father." Sira holds her phone to the air, attempting to find a signal. She sighs. "There's no reception out here. Are you okay to wait while I go upstairs to call the cab? I'll hurry, I swear."

Sophia nods, holding the ice up to her head. Damn, it stung. She must have gotten a friction rub somewhere. "It's okay. You go on."

"I'll be quick."

When Sira leaves Sophia with her throbbing head, ice pack and head slumped on her hand, the Andalusian sighs. It was a solid distraction, sure, but same effect as if she'd spent the night in the library or her desk. A sore fucking head. She attempts to run her hand through her hair, damp at the roots, only for her fingers to be caught in stubborn tangles. Dios mio.

"You need anything to drink? Water, perhaps something... stronger."

Sophia looks up, connecting eyes with the bartender.

"I heard your friend say you weren't driving, so, you know. You're allowed." He adds.

"Were you eavesdropping?" She narrows her eyes.

Bartender grins. "How else am I supposed to make conversation with pleasant, stunning people like you?"

"You're hitting on me." Sophia clocks. "How old are you?"

Bartender shrugs. "28. That a problem?"

"Legally, no, but morally, considering I'd been fresh out the womb while you were learning your eight times tables, yeah, I'd say. Morally, yeah."

Bartender didn't look offended, just stared at her with wide eyes, frozen in the midst of drying a beer glass with the dish towel.

"I'll take a gin and tonic." says Sophia.

Bartender nods, and rings up the payment through the till. Sophia was seconds away from cashing it in, a hand inside her purse, when the stool beside her became occupied with a body that dished out a few notes before Sophia had the chance to.

Her head snapped to the side so fast she didn't see the raised eyebrow the bartender gave her payer.

"Um, hello?" says Sophia. "Thanks."

It was a guy, Sophia had seen immediately. Of course it was a guy. It was like a re-enactment of a romance book. Typically, the girl's heartbroken and ends up moping at the bar and she drinks copious amounts and eventually some generous donor pays her tab, and they fall in love and live happily ever after. Only this wasn't typical and Sophia almost had a concussion and hadn't even drank a sip of alcohol and she wasn't heartbroken, just stressed.

And pissed that she agreed to come out.

But this guy was smiling, this guy who just paid for her drink, with short dark hair that outgrew in the front a little. She can imagine him coming out of the barbers and a mate going, "Oye, nice fade, bro, but they missed a bit!" while pointing to the uneven hair at the front of his head.

"My pleasure," the guy says to her.

Sophia's still confused. This guy's acting like he didn't just come out of nowhere to pay for her drink.

"Um, why'd you... do that?"

"Think of it as an apology," he says.

Sophia frowns.

The guy points to her head, where the large bump was and where the ice pack rested amongst all her confusion.

"Wait," says Sophia. "That was you? I thought it was just some idiot who had no manners and was pissed out his mind on alcohol. But you..." Are supposedly well-mannered enough to apologise, and pay for my drink, and don't seem pissed on alcohol.

Her assumption fell short, because he shook his head. "I didn't collide into you, he did."

Mystery man reached across the front of Sophia to point to someone a few yards away and sitting in line with them at the bar. Yeah, he clearly seemed drunk, and banged-up, because the bartender just slid him some ice too. And an empty bottle of water was beside him.

"Your friend?" She asks.

"Yeah."

Sophia turns back to Mystery Man. "Couldn't your friend have apologised and paid himself?"

"He's in a bit of a state, if you haven't noticed." He says.

"That makes two of us," Sophia mutters. "You apologised for your friend. I doubt you're here to have a pleasant conversation, no?"

Mystery man chuckles to himself. He didn't seem much older than she did, really. Twenty, at the most. He had something of a baby face on him.

He says, "I came here... because my friend wanted your number. He thought you were cute, and he wanted to go over to talk to you, but... we both know how that went."

Sophia laughs. "Yes, because there's something so cute about a girl drenched in sweat getting knocked to the floor in a club."

The guy clears his throat. "That makes two of us," he says, fingers adjusting the collar of his polo shirt in a way that told Sophia she wasn't the only one in severe need of deodorant.

When he said that, Sophia looked at him.

She looks back down to her drink and sighs. "I don't even... know why I ordered this. Wasn't even planning on drinking. You want it? You did pay, after all."

He shakes his head. "I'm good, thanks. Not drinking tonight."

Sophia tilts her head at him. "Is that not the sole purpose of coming to the club? So you can drink to forget about life and how shit the DJ's music is?"

He laughs. "I could ask you the same thing. Since you haven't drank tonight."

She raises an eyebrow for a moment before explaining, "I think I needed shitty music to forget about the exam I have in two days."

He nods. "I'm an athlete, looking to compete soon. Don't really want to do anything that'd risk me into injury. Also, I'm DD."

"Same here," says Sophia.

"Exam, you say?" He revisited her topic of need for distraction.

She nods. "Chemistry."

"You do chemistry?"

Sophia shakes her head. "Biological science, actually. Chemistry just happens to involve itself a shit ton."

He laughs. "Really? What uni?"

"Universidad de Barcelona," she answers. Sophia remembers something. "By the way, about your question for your friend... I don't exactly do numbers."

The guy frowns at the phone clearly in her purse.

She rolls her eyes. "I have a phone, obviously. But even if I did give my number to random guys that get drunk in the club, whose equivalent to flirting is falling into the girl they fancy and proceeding to have their friend approach me... well, I would rather he'd approach me himself, is all."

Sophia contemplated her drink. She could feel the guy's watchful eyes on her.

"What's on your necklace," he asked.

Automatically, Sophia's fingers moved to the chain around her neck. Some custom thing she bought online from a too-cheap Etsy seller. But she still wore it every day.

"It's a thistle," the girl says.

"Like... the plant?"

She nods. "The national flower of my country."

He stays  there, waiting for an answer.

Sophia says, "Scotland's national flower."

"You're from Escocia?" His mouth drops open. "But your Spanish is perfect!"

"Well, I was born here, in Seville. My mum is Scottish."

"Does Scotland not have that football team? The blue team that call themselves the bears?"

She gives him a hard stare at the mention of her most hated football team, Rangers. "Do not mention that disgrace."

He grins. "You must be a fan of the green and white team, then. I've heard about the rivalry."

"Celtic, yeah." says Sophia, "I go to every game when I'm back in Glasgow."

(Or Manchester City - Sophia wasn't a big fan of them, but always went to the games on to see her incredible cousin, Katherine, co-managing City with Pep Guardiola.)

"Are you into football?" She asks the guy.

He nods pleasantly. "Barcelona fan."

"Figures," she says with her lips pressed together.

He tilts his head at her. "You don't like them?"

"I mean, I don't dislike them... I've just been a Betis fan since childhood. Being born in Seville, and all that. They're also one of the few teams I watch."

"Huh," he says with a light scoff. "You are a true verdiblanco."

Sophia grins. "You're from Barcelona, then?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I moved here for work. I was born in La Palmas."

"Canary Islands?" She says. Sophia motions her hands, trying to remember what tickled her brain about the region. "They have that... they have special bananas, don't they! Their fruit ripens faster, because of the enzymes. Los Plátanos de Gran Canarias."

He gives her an amused glance. "Universidad de Barcelona teach you all about the special bananas of the Canary Islands?"

"It's useful knowledge, okay?" The Andalusian defends herself. Then spots Sira walking back, finally. She must have gone to Madrid to call that cab. The Catalonian was walking towards Sophia, but got caught in a crowd of people not looking where they were dancing.

Sophia takes that as her cue to get up, but she does it so rapidly, the blood goes to her head in a dizzy rush, she has to grab onto the bar for support. Mystery man saw this too, and stood up, both hands on either of her arms.

When she gets her bearings again, she blinks. Then sees the guy barely inches away from her, two bodies pressing close between the space of the bar stool.

Standing up, he was taller. Not by that much, but enough Sophia had to acutely angle her head upwards to meet his soft eyes.

"Take it easy," he says.

"I... I will." She nods. He lets go of her arms, and lets her slide out of the space. Sophia puts her black biker jacket over her dress, and gives him a smile. He did pay for her drink and rush to make sure she was okay, after all. "Thank you."

He smiles too, but this time, more reserved. "My pleasure."

Sophia leaves and finds Sira cursing to herself as she finally tore away from the crowd of blind dancers. Her face lights up at the sight of the Andalusian.

"There you are, babes!" says Sira. "C'mon, we gotta go. Cab'll be here soon."

Sophia nods, Sira looping their arms together, and the older girl asks, "Who were you talking to? Not some creep, I hope."

"Some palmero. He was apologising, because his friend was the one who knocked into me."

"Oh god. You didn't bore him with Los Platanos de Canarias, did you?"

Sophia gives her a punch in the arm. "Doesn't matter, anyways. He'll forget. He was just some random palmero at a Barca club."

***