The common room was packed. Only fragments of the apricot modular were visible beneath tightly squeezed bottoms; mismatched chairs had been commandeered from about the hostel; bottles of beer, rum and Coca-Cola cluttered the coffee table; and voices bounced off the walls, blending into a stew of noise. Everyone was young, free and filled with the buzz of excitement preceding a night out.

Thomas observed the crowd, not quite apart, but not a part either. He leaned against the archway dividing the common room from the study, glass nursed in hand. Just like back home. He had plenty of friends and acquaintances, but never quite fit in. Always the observer, never truly a participator.

Ice-cubes clinked as he sipped. He sucked air through his teeth — the Cuba Libre was damned strong. Might as well drink it neat and save the hassle.

Khai had insisted on repaying Thomas' "legendaryness" — a term earned after his purchase of more beers and a supersized bottle of rum — by making the cocktails. Unfortunately, the man had been deaf to his request for a diluted one.

When the man in question flicked him a glance, Thomas raised his glass in acknowledgement. He received a flash of teeth in return. It didn't reach the eyes.

Khai returned his attention to the attractive woman next to him. Savannah, was it? The pair had been conversing for the past hour or so — ever since Nadia left for a nap.

His head thrummed. Not wanting to combine a hangover with the blur of jetlag, he resolved that his next drinks would be water based.

Khai poured a generous dollop of rum into his glass, offered a smaller one to Savannah, followed by dashes of coke and slices of lime.

Thomas shrugged to himself. They were welcome to it, though a frisson of unease tickled down his spine as he comprehended the amount of alcohol the woman was consuming. With any luck, her height would counteract it.

The thought didn't capture him for long.

Nadia consumed him. They had spoken. Not only that, they had spent at least half an hour alone. She hadn't been what he expected to begin with. He'd been dismayed by her sharp words and quick temper. Then she apologised — to him. People didn't do that. He realised there wasn't any malice and he'd rather take heated words over mean behaviour any day.

He took another sip, grimaced and continued his observation of Khai's heart-to-heart with the woman, noting the particulars. The way the man demanded eye contact and smiled at her as if she were the only woman in the room.

Yes, he understood Nadia's mood swings.

He felt for her. Well, just a bit — because deep down he didn't want Khai to be likeable. A selfish part of him found this behaviour suited him just fine.

He frowned when Khai brushed back a strand of the woman's hair. Was the man without respect? Hadn't he heard of Caesar's wife? Obviously not.

Indignation bloomed hot in his blood, and his stomach clenched, then it tingled as his thoughts turned to the memory of Nadia smiling at him, welcoming him in her mercurial way. He smiled.

Teaching him how to cook pasta might have been a small gesture, but it meant the world to him. She'd given him something he wanted and included him. In the short time they worked in the kitchen, a sense of rightness had wrapped around him, a sensation that spread into his marrow. Now he was as aware of her absence as he had been of her presence.

He checked his watch: 10:43 p.m. Did she sleep through her alarm? Their group would be leaving soon. Perhaps he could find her room and wake her. Best see Jacqui.

Thomas straightened and froze.

Nadia stood in the doorway. A faint pink line ran down her cheek from the seam of her pillow. Her eyeliner was smudged and her face framed by a halo of frizzy brown hair. She was beautiful. Perfect. She wore scuffed purple converses that put Beatrice's Louis Vuitton pumps to shame, an old pair of faded blue jeans and a ribbed grey singlet which enhanced her slender waist. Her grey eyes were now a pair of hurricanes, the epicentres concentrated on Khai.

Thomas slunk back against the wall and swigged.

Nadia stomped into the room and turned right to circumnavigate the coffee table. Static electricity crackled around her hair, and Thomas could almost hear her small pointed teeth grind together between a wicked smile.

She stopped. "Hi, babeee," she said in a voice sweet as honey and plonked hard on Khai's lap, forcing Savannah aside. She gave him a loud, aggressive kiss.

Thomas' heart twisted. Damn the bastard!

An hour later they were at a party held in a hostel smack bang in the middle of Miraflores. A renovated mansion with a British India vibe, it could have been mistaken for a five-star hotel — if not for the scatterings of postmodern eclecticism amidst the brown and white decor, or the hordes of drunk backpackers and trendy locals.

Flashes of disco lights alternated between blue, red and yellow, illuminating random figures from the sea of bodies. Amongst them, Thomas switched his balance from one sticky foot to the other, not sure what to do. A reggaetón beat seeped up from the floorboards, and his ears rang. He smacked his lips together as the smoke machine hissed out a pool of glycol-flavoured fog.

To his right, Nadia talked animatedly to the young man who'd mopped the hostel floor, a megawatt smile on her face. She waved a hand expressively as she spoke, darting occasional glances at Khai who danced pelvis-to-pelvis with a local beauty. The perplexed expression on the kid's face made it clear to Thomas he understood almost nothing. At least Nadia smiled. He noticed that her glass of Tequila Sunrise was practically empty — again.

When the teen led Nadia further into the crowd to dance, Thomas decided to escape the noise and zigzagged through the throng, opened a sliding door, and entered a new bubble of pandemonium.

Sighing, he pulled the packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and tapped one out. The spark-wheel of his lighter clicked until the flame held. As he inhaled, the metal burned his thumb, and smoke caught in his throat. He coughed, shaking the heat from his digit. God, these are strong. He made a note to get menthol next time.

Thomas leaned over the balustrade and took in the scene below him. A potato parade. People walked two abreast through the street, holding pictures of the different varieties. There must have been hundreds. Floats made from cars and motorbikes interspersed them, some with siren horns, most wrapped in tinsel and decorated with random objects, his favourite: a huge tyrannosaurus rex. It was the strangest procession he had ever seen, but the atmosphere was electric.

Above, the dappled urban light flickered through the trees. He contemplated the slow-moving clouds and smattering of foreign stars, spellbound.

"Yo!"

"Bollocks!" Thomas bent to retrieve his cigarette from the ground and peered up at the face of an extremely intoxicated Nadia.

She giggled. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Thomas raked his hair and said, "You look like you could do with a big glass of water and bed." He returned the cigarette to his mouth as he rose, fished in his pocket and held the packet out to her.

Grey eyes looked at it dubiously. "I hate those things," she said. "They're cancer sticks." But she took one anyway, rested it in her mouth and leaned in close.

The smell of raspberry, orange and beer encircled Thomas. As the tips of their cigarettes touched, her eyes met his, a swirling kaleidoscope of grey. She breathed in. A tiny flame ignited on a faint crackle of paper and tobacco. The urge to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her hit him, pumping his heart into overdrive. Blood sped through his veins, turning it from blue to red. He saw the pulse at her throat and wondered if she felt it too. Her eyes widened further. Then she started coughing and spluttering.

She shook away his offer of help and made her way to a chair in the corner which held her drink.

Thomas winced as she gulped the beer.

She grinned sheepishly. "I haven't smoked one of these in ages — sorry."

He shrugged the comment off. "Why aren't you dancing?"

"That kid started grabbing my arse. Can you believe it?" She shook her head and took a proper draw, hunching her shoulders against the brisk night air and bouncing on her feet.

"No, not at all," he replied, dryly.

Nadia didn't seem to notice his tone. "You would think that here, of all places, a guy would know that just because a woman dances with him, it doesn't mean that he can get in her pants!" She crossed her arms and humphed. "The little pervert."

Thomas lifted his brows. "You —" He paused, uncertain how to put words to his thoughts, and realised he had nothing to lose. She would leave any day, and he probably wouldn't see her again. Might as well spit it out. "You don't mind Khai dancing with other women like that?"

The colour drained from her face, and her expression sobered. "People do it like that here."

"But still, you wouldn't let him dance that way that back home would — "

"It's a different culture, Thomas!" she snapped, and her eyes began to sparkle.

Oh no. No, no, no. Please don't cry.

She turned away from him and rested her elbows on the balcony ledge, pressing her chin in the palm of her hands and sticking out her curvaceous derriere. After a time, it started to move, matching the rhythm of the music from within.

He stared, mesmerised, and didn't comprehend her words the first or second time she spoke them.

Nadia swung around, and Thomas flushed. "Thomas, didn't you hear me? How awesome is this parade? I just love it!" She butted out the remains of her cigarette and reached into her pocket for her phone, stepping back as she held it out to take a photo, fumbling over the icons. "Whoa, head rush."

Thomas stepped in quickly when she tripped, managing to catch both her and her phone before they fell to the ground. Her body fitted perfectly in his arms, firm and warm. Again, he found her staring back at him, the black of her eyeliner and mascara making her eyes enormous. Tenderly, he brushed aside a wisp of hair from her face.

She giggled awkwardly, wriggled unsteadily out of his arms, and mumbled her thanks.

For a moment, he resisted, then he released her, tapped the camera icon, and handed the phone over. "I think I had best find you some water," he said, starting to walk away, then he turned. "Stay here, alright. I'll be back shortly."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just a bit tipsy." Nadia stumbled and grabbed the terrace edge to steady herself.

Thomas walked back over and snatched the phone before she dropped it again. "You're drunk. I said stay put."

"Hey! That's mine ..." Her protest became a drawl.

If he could get water into her, she might be able to recover enough to enjoy the remainder of the evening — so long as she didn't drink anything else. Somehow, he doubted this. Tomorrow would not be a fun day for her.

He left her mumbling drunkenly to herself and searched about for Khai. Much as he disliked the man, he was her boyfriend — and nowhere to be found. Even Savannah was stumped.

The wait at the bar had become daunting, and his bladder near to bursting, so he elected to head to the toilet first. No one else here seemed to have any interest in potatoes, so she should be safe.

The queue for the toilet was also dire. Figuring there would be more on another level, he wandered out into the hallway and up a marble staircase until he found an arrow pointing to 'Los baños'.

Mission accomplished, he walked back towards the staircase and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Khai's broad back.

Arms trapped Nadia against the wall. She moaned. An icy stone fell from Thomas' heart to his stomach. He wished he had stayed.

Time to leave, Waterhouse.

A flash of black hair caught his attention, followed by the purr of fluent Spanish, a response in halting Spanglish and hiccups.

As realisation kicked in, the temperature notched up ten degrees. Pressure, like an elastic band, dug into Thomas' temples. I'll kill him.

His first instinct was to walk up, spin the man around and punch him in the face. To wipe away that self-assured expression. He flexed his fists. Serve the bastard right.

Didn't he see what he had? Nadia was beautiful, funny — and waiting for him outside.

The thought extinguished the heat from his body. She shouldn't be alone. She needed better. Heck, she needed water.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Los baños — The bathrooms

Image by Michael Discenza on Unsplash.