"Hey, you wanna play a game called Titanic?"

…

"Alois, where are we going?"

"You'll see," he sings his response with an ever present grin on his face. The more he smiles, the more I start to get worried. Alois' choices in bars are like his choices in men, dubious and questionable at best.

Trudging through the crowded streets of Soho we walk hand in hand down Old Compton Street. It's a little misty out, the rain has finally let up but there's still dampness in the air. Not to mention, I'm not dressed for this weather; Alois fussed over every detail of my outfit before we headed out the door. Faded black skinny jeans which are snug around my hips, a fitted light blue check shirt with sleeves rolled up to my elbows and a constricting grey waistcoat. I'm cold but apparently being fashionable and trendy means not wearing a coat, besides, the real point of this outfit is to show off my body. I'm advertising to the masses, showing them I'm out looking for a good time, when in fact all I want is a cup of tea, my bed and sleep.

Pulling me along, we weave through the tourists who are unsure of which club to go into and the regulars who spill out of the pubs onto the kerb to smoke their cigarettes, all huddled together for warmth. As we pass the normal venues Alois usually frequents, I start to wonder just where the hell he's taking me.

"Are we there yet?" I ask, struggling to keep up with his fast strides.

"Close," he smiles. The ever-present grin is turning into a devious glint in his eyes as he drags me across the street.

Approaching the corner, it quickly becomes apparent where we're headed and I dig my heels into the pavement to stop.

"No," I grimace and snatch my hand back from him.

"What's the matter?" He feigns confusion, quite unconvincingly I might add.

"I am not going to G-A-Y."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Where do I begin?"

"You don't want to be caught dead in a camptastic place like that because it would offend your posh Oxbridge sensibilities, is that what you mean?"

"You put it in a more elegant way than I ever could," I smirk not wanting to disagree. It's full of everything I loathe, horrible venue, even worse music and the disgraceful behaviour of its patrons; I'd rather have a root canal without local anaesthetic.

Folding his arms across his chest Alois stamps his foot down as his bottom lip protrudes in a pout.

"You never want to go where I want to."

"You never chose good places!"

"That's not true," he defends but I think he knows he didn't have a leg to stand on.

Alois grabs my arm squeezing it firmly, tugging me towards him. Stumbling a bit I try to pull it back but admittedly, he's a lot stronger than me.

"You're coming so stop bitching and let's go," he growls and I obey, following behind him as he hauls me down the street towards the club. Keeping my head down out of fear of the rare possibility of being recognized, I focus on my footsteps as the vibration of music pumping through the speakers shakes the ground like a quake.

We pass a fog provided by the outside smokers; I swallow a gulp of smoke and cough as it burns my lungs, causing me to collide into one of them, the action tripping me up. I see a pair of scuffed black matte Doc Martins step back against the wall as Alois brings me closer to his side.

"Excuse you," a voice snorts at me.

"Sorry mate," I mutter a reply with my head down, passing him to get to the door.

The beat of excessive bass is oppressive as we make our way through the foyer. A young man in tight cut-off shorts with a frayed hem just underneath his ass cheeks slaps a wristband on us and we're free to go inside.

This is my definition of Hell.

Coloured lights refract from a giant mirror ball, which hangs from the ceiling, bouncing the glittering light over the inebriated sweaty bodies being taken over by the infectious rhythm of the music. This isn't to my taste I prefer Chopin over whatever Top 40 remix this is.

Linking his arm in mine Alois escorts me to the bar along the side. Weaselling his way between two sweaty men twice his height he drapes himself over the top, catching the eye of a tall brown haired bartender in a tight white t-shirt. Wiggling his index finger, he beckons him over.

"What do you want?" Alois asks me over his shoulder. Dark eyes flick up at me, studying me as I think about my decision. After he finishes assessing me, the bartender licks his lips, smiles and bends towards me.

"Well, what can I get you gorgeous?" He coos. Gross, is he flirting with me?

"Vodka orange," I answer plainly unwilling to play this game. Alois' head snaps to me with a frown on his face as he mouths 'what is wrong with you?' I shrug and turn around, resting my back against the edge of the bar. I don't care to flirt, I don't care to interact and I don't care about being here.

After ordering his drink and peeling his eyes away from the bartenders' ass, Alois pushes his shoulder into my side.

"You never did tell me what happened," he mentions, dragging index finger along black rubber drying mat inlay.

"Apparently, I've changed," I respond.

"Have you? I hadn't noticed."

"Do you think I'm too materialistic?"

"Yes," he answers flatly and I turn to him, "I didn't say it was a bad thing," he contends after reading the look on my face.

"What is it then?"

"It's just how you are," he shrugs one shoulder, tuning back around and running his finger over the mat. "You're not the most emotional of people; tending to keep a lot to yourself but I'm used to it, it's how you've always been."

The bartender returns with my drink in a tall glass and four shots of whatever Alois ordered.

"What'd you get?"

"Jaegerbombs!" He declares shooting them one by one and shaking his hips to the beat of whatever song is oozing out of the sound system. I follow suit and chug down my drink, Alois watches me, completely amused at my first attempt to get pissed. Waving the bartender back Alois motions for another round, slamming a tenner down on the sticky surface.

"Are you mad?" He wonders, keeping his head forwards.

"No, it's the truth isn't it?"

He didn't reply but then again he didn't have to, I already know.

Another round of drinks and a borrowed Jaegerbomb from Alois later, I am starting to feel good. By the fourth round Alois grabs my wrist and pulls me upstairs to another room. The music is different here, not the typical pop fare we were bombarded with downstairs. We both nod our heads to the music but I don't feel like dancing. Observing Alois out of the corner of my eye I watch as he scans the room. He has a particular gift for hunting out prey, someone he'll snare and take home for the night. It looks like he's found him. There are three men grouped together by the DJ booth. They stand out, even more so than I do, all dressed in black as though they'd come from a funeral. Alois' gaze lands on a tall wavy black haired man with thick-rimmed glasses. Licking his lips his eyes leisurely trail up and down this mans' body. I guess I'm on my own for the rest of the night.

"I'm gonna get my dance on," he grins, leaving me and sauntering over to the tall man with glasses.

Tapping his shoulder, Alois gets his attention and without taking no for an answer, he drags him to the middle of the dance floor. The man frowns, looking at the blond curiously but Alois wraps his arm around his waist and brings him into him moving both of their hips to the beat. Chuckling and shaking my head, I continue to watch as Alois tries to seduce this poor man.

"Your mate's got skill," someone mentions from beside me. My gaze moves from Alois to the ground and I see his boots. The same scuffed matte black Doc Martins from outside. Travelling up the skin-tight black jeans to his torso, which is clad in a fitted black t-shirt leaving little to the imagination. He is muscular but not in a way that's intimidating or over the top, just refined and toned. His arms were covered in fishnet, which stopped above his elbow and he wore a long black pashmina scarf circled loosely around his neck. From there, my eye goes to his face and I'm instantly taken aback. Impressive facial structure, high cheek bones and strong jaw line. His skin is white, which punctuates the colour of his black kohl lined ruddy brown eyes, all rounded off with his choppy black hair framing his face so perfectly.

"Yeah, he does possess a particular, talent," I respond, our eyes remaining locked on each other. He smiles, leaning towards me.

"Hey, you wanna play a game called Titanic?"

"What's that?"

"The rules are simple, when I say iceberg, you go down," he grins. Blinking, completely amazed by the audacity of his comment I let out a derisive snort.

"Does that line actually work on anyone?"

He shrugs, "sometimes."

"Well not on me," I sneer pushing past him.

"No, wait," he calls after me, "it was a terrible joke."

"Too bloody right mate," I scoff, twisting back to him, crossing my arms.

"Let's try this again," he begins holding out his hand. "I'm Sebastian," he introduces. I look at his hand but don't take it keeping my arms firmly around me. "Do you have a name?"

"No," I retort.

"Oh come on, I'm sorry for the joke."

"You said."

"Then why can't we be friendly? Our friends are getting along, shouldn't we?"

"I'm not looking for a friend," I riposte sharply, his eyes lower as he moves closer to me. Even though this place is packed with sweaty bodies and spilt alcohol I can still smell him, this warming cinnamon scent permeates from his skin and he smells delicious.

"Then what are you looking for?"

"To go home," I shoot him down, sidestepping towards the exit but he follows me.

"What's the rush? The night's young."

Rolling my eye and emitting a groan, I spin around on my heels to face him.

"Since you asked, I just came out of a long term relationship with the only person who ever loved me but didn't love who I've become so he dumped me. The two friends I do have think I'm emotionally repressed and materialistic, which is something I found out about twenty minutes ago. All I want to do is go home, take a long hard look at myself and sleep until I'm dead. So, I'm not looking for anything, friends or whatever," I blurt out before I start marching towards the exit. Stopping, I whip back around to him, "and even if I was, you're not even close to being my type."

I have never been known to go for the seemingly unwashed Goth travesty he appears to be, preferring my men to be more of a cleaner cut. Sebastian smirks running a hand through his inky black hair, even his fingernails are painted black, definitely not for me.

"I'm not your type? Why's that?"

"Seriously?" My tone is caustic and delivered with an arched brow.

"No really, I wanna know. I'm tall, dark and devilishly handsome, which makes me everyone's type."

"Wow, could you be more full of yourself?"

"Give me a minute; I'm sure I can be," he replies.

I can't help but smirk, the nerve of this guy is astounding.

"It's your whole look," I explain waving my hand in front of him, "I'm not into whatever this is."

"Please, I look fantastic, you're the one who looks uncomfortable," he retorts.

"My friend dressed me, this isn't what I usually like to go out in," I reply honestly.

"So, this isn't what you normally look like?"

I shake my head, "not really, no."

"Then what are you normally like?"

What an odd question.

He didn't ask what I normally dress like or look like; he asked what I am like. Why?

"What do you mean?"

"You're guarded up so tight; I just figured it was a defence mechanism. So, I want to know what you're normally like, who are you?"

"I don't know anymore," I confess, my mouth charging ahead before my mind can catch up.

"Don't you think it's time you find out?"

"I wouldn't even begin to know how," I sigh. I'm being oddly confessional with this Goth travesty of a man. Perhaps I'm tried or more likely, buzzed from the vodka oranges but there's something oddly comforting about Sebastian. Taking another step to me he tilts his head to the side as he regards me. I feel a sharp shiver run up my spine, I don't know if it's how close he is to me, or what, but I'm frozen to the spot.

"There's a club night at Slaughterhouse-Five on Saturday, come with me," he invites me with a smile, "you can even bring your friend," his head motions to Alois who's now grinding against his prey for the night.

"No thanks, I'd rather not."

"What, go out with me or bring your friend?"

"Both," I grin.

"What do you have to lose? Come on, do something different for once."

His velvety voice is hypnotic because I want to say no and leave but I can't seem to get the words out. He's intoxicating, from his demeanour to his voice, it must be the drink, no, it's definitely the drink but I can't seem to say no to him.

"All right but as long as I can bring friends," I concede, well that is definitely not what I was trying to say.

"Bring as many as you like, I'll put your name on the list," he agrees.

"You know, I've never had to work so hard for someone to agree to go out with me before, most people tend to fall for the bad boy."

"I am not most people."

His eyes lower as he eyes me, "no, that you are not," Sebastian pauses for a moment and he bends over to my ear. "Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"Ciel," I answer, damn it, my mouth is working against me.

"And are you going to give me your number?" His smooth soft voice purrs in my ear.

I hold out my hand and he fishes in his back pocket, pulling out his mobile. After unlocking it, Sebastian places it in my palm. Sighing, I type in my number and save, handing it back to him.

Looking over to Alois, I can see he's completely forgotten about me. I may as well leave before my mouth agrees to anything else.

"If they ever come up for air, let the blond know I left."

"You're leaving?"

"I'm tried and all I want is a hot bath," I groan.

"Do you feel like company? I know a way to make that bath even hotter," his vulpine smile makes sure I know what he is alluding to. My whole body shivers, perhaps Alois is right and I should take someone home with me. I've never been adventurous before and it is just for the night, right? Where's the harm in that? I smile back at Sebastian, tossing my head to the side as I lean in close.

"Nice try," I smirk, my mouth finally coming back under my control.

I turn and make my way to the exit.

"See you Saturday," he calls after me and I nod an acknowledgement, rounding the corner and bolting down the stairs but when I get to the bottom, I stop.

Wait, what did I just agree to?