Neon signs flickered, casting electric blue and crimson reflections on the glossy dance floor. The heavy bass reverberated through the walls, rattling bones and eardrums alike. It was a sensory overload—youthful chaos, deafening music, and a jungle of bodies packed into one pulsating space. Alex could call it his favorite worst nightmare.

His gaze drifted over the swaying mass of people, their movements dictated by some god-awful remix that, by some miracle, managed to stay on beat. His head throbbed—a dull, persistent ache. Maybe it was the alcohol he’d downed too quickly, maybe it was the relentless strobe lights flashing in a spectrum of colors, or maybe it was both. Either way, the night was starting to blur at the edges.

Saturday night was meant to be a break for the band before the upcoming string of concerts. There were plenty of them—too many, really—because their latest album, AM, had exploded worldwide. A blessing, or maybe just another curse weighing on his already strained mental state. Success had its price, and he was paying in exhaustion. But still, he smiled. If he smiled enough, maybe it would trick his mind into believing he was fine.

Another glass of liquor burned down his throat, warmth spreading through his limbs. He wasn’t drinking for fun—he was drinking with intent. The plan was simple: get drunk, forget, escape. Alcohol made everything softer, easier. It gave him courage, or at least the illusion of it.

"I'm gonna go find the boys," Matt muttered, pushing himself up from the couch. He’d noticed Alex wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Sometimes, it was better to leave him be.

And so, Alex was left alone. Alone like a single note in a symphony. Alone in a crowd that, tonight, felt more suffocating than ever.