You sipped a colorful cocktail through a bendy straw, the sweetness clinging to your lips. The music in the bar had just crept up in volume, the bass pulsing softly through the floorboards, making your head instinctively sway to the rhythm. The air was thick with chatter—dozens of conversations folding into one murky hum, like white noise wrapping around your thoughts. It was Saturday night, when places like this overflowed with bodies and blurred intentions.

You hadn't exactly chosen to be here. Alex and the rest of the guys had dragged you along after their gig, craving cold beers and loud company. As their friend—and something more, at least in Alex's case—you couldn’t say no. It was part loyalty, part fear of missing something important. So here you were, perched at the bar, half-present, letting the night wash over you.

You scanned the room in search of Alex. He had a tendency to disappear into the crowd—maybe chatting up strangers with that easy charm of his, maybe outside lighting a cigarette he never finished. Your eyes dropped back to your half-empty glass just as a pair of hands slid around your waist. Warm. Familiar. Then lips—hot and slightly clumsy—pressed against the curve of your neck. And soft, drunken murmurs tangled in your hair. Alex.

Not that you didn’t want him. You did. Craved him, even. But not here. Not in the middle of all these people. Not where eyes could linger and whispers could spread. You tensed for a moment, your body caught between desire and discretion.

You’d been together for over a year now, but the world didn’t know. No interviews, no public displays, no blurry fan photos online. Only Matt and Nick had ever found out—accidentally, when they caught you wrapped up in each other in the studio late one night. Luckily, they'd said nothing. Maybe out of loyalty. Maybe because they understood.

The secrecy wasn’t about shame—it was about protection. From flashing cameras and tabloid headlines. But now, as Alex pulled you closer, kissing you in front of everyone.