"Why don't you leave early today Des? You look like you need a day off." For a Friday, Bad Weather is slow.
Tara leans across the bar, flashing him a worried smile. She always worries about him, always looks out for him, worries the city will swallow him whole.
She calls herself head bartender, but to be honest she isn't that great at making drinks. What she is good at is managing people. She knows when to stop, when to send people home, who to schedule together and how to talk to everyone. That's her specialty, and she can read Desmond like a book.
She takes one look at him when he gets into the bar that night and knows immediately he needs to escape, so she lets him go early. Let him escape into the city that never sleeps.
No matter how much cleaning Bad Weather receives, the smell of stale beer lingers, clinging to its every surface. Tara's scrubbing tables absent mindedly when she levels Desmond with her eyes.
"You look like shit Des." Her hands land on her hips, head tilting slightly as she takes him in. "Go home" her words aren't meant to sound as harsh as they do but he's taken back for a moment.
"Wha-" His brows furrowed together and she shoots him a smile.
"I'll tip you out for the full night, but you have to promise me you're going to go home and sleep. Even if it's just for a few hours, you look like you're going to drop dead."
The night is unseasonably cold for August, but he would never complain. A cool New York summer is a novelty he hasn't witnessed yet.
Cool city summer's mean less mystery AC water dripping on the sidewalk. No hot garbage stench during perpetual garbage days. No sweaty, sticky train rides with people you'll never see again.
He takes the train away from Manhattan, eyes closing, breathing in the smell of the subway. Hot metal and stale air meeting salt and a hint of stale beer.
His walk from the station doesn't lead home tonight.
It's loud, but it's always loud. That's the way he likes it, that's exactly what he needs. Not sleep, not peace, but the pounding of something other than his heart filling his body.
He needs to drown it all out so he can fade into the background and feel the noise close around him. Pounding of the endless bass rattling the floor, twice as fast as a human heart so he can no longer feel the fluttering in his chest.
Closing his eyes, he leans against the wall, drink in hand, swaying his head side to side. Beginning to feel the calm take over, willing it to spread through his body.
He can see the lights flash from behind closed eyes. Stolen moments flying through his mind. Watching with unseeing eyes, he lets the colours play out, doing nothing but breathing. He thinks they pump scents into the club, pleasant floral smells to mask the scent of sweat.
This old haunt is something different than Bad Weather. This place is for exploration, for taboos, a house of differences, a house of yes.
Opening his eyes he watches the dance floor, skirting the perimeter, looking around and seeing a few familiar faces. Patrons from the bar, faces from the subway, his daily commute. New York is everything and nothing all at once.
He can be truly anonymous if he wants to be.
"You look familiar!" She yells over the music, careful hand skirting over his skin. Her smile is sweet but she holds something devilish behind her dark eyes.
"I do, do I?" He responds with a laugh, flashing a smile Tara calls people pleasing. She flutters her lashes, taking another sip of her drink. Long and fake, her eyeliner glows in the black light. Dark hair framing her face, soft features contoured into sharp angles.
"Do you want to have some fun?" She runs her hand down his arm finding his hand and giving it a tug, another smile as he follows onto the dance floor. He is prey to her, he can feel it in the way she holds his hand. The way she moves into the crowd. The way she pulls him along.
Lights flashing, TVs lighting up behind the DJ he begins to dance.
Her small hands creep across the expanse of his chest, he can feel his heart pounding, too slow to keep up with the beat.
Just let go…
"What's your name?" She shouts, looking up at him, even in her heels she's still shorter than him.
"Desmond. What's yours?" He gets close to her ear, breath coming out in a huff. He can feel her shiver against him, closing her eyes briefly before answering.
"Cristina. What do you do for work?" He lets out a light laugh, holding the girl by her hips before looking into her eyes. They stop dancing for a moment, letting the crowd push them back and forth.
"You don't have to do this" He says over the noise. She lets out a sigh of what can only be relief, tossing her head back in a laugh. She wraps her arms around his neck, her body relaxing into him.
"Thank god!" She tangles her hand into his hair, pulling his face into hers and kissing him desperately.
Music thunders around them and he can feel himself slipping into it. Falling deeper and deeper he lets the beat take him, swaying with Cristina.
She feels so warm, the curve of her body fitting perfectly into his. He closes his eyes, letting her guide him as he finds a rhythm for his breathing, slowing his startled heart, finally letting go of the tension he was holding.
He can feel his shoulders relaxing, his breathing becoming steady.
They're surrounded, bumping into other club goers, falling into laughter at their drunken stupors. Desmond looks up watching the go-go dancers in their all white outfits, glitter falling into the crowd. He catches a handful before sprinkling it over Cristina. He can feel himself letting go more and more as the minutes pass.
Open hands reach from cages as they swing above, a hoop descending to the middle of the dance floor, someone dressed in a skin tight body suit hanging from it dangerously. They begin to spin, twisting around the hoop, bending into impossible shapes before lifting their partner from the dance floor.
The unsuspecting club goers let out a collective gasp before breaking into applause.
Arms locked, they swing above the crowd, hands reaching and grasping to the sky, begging the couple to touch down to earth.
They continue swinging, their endless circles in the heavens, staring down at their adoring crowd.
How it must feel to command a crowd like they do, swing from heights like they do. Trust in each other like they do.
Cristina closes her eyes absently as Desmond watches, enthralled with their every movement. She turns, nestling her butt directly into him before continuing to dance, her dangerously short skirt beginning to creep up.
His antsy feeling returns, the previous peace edging away and being replaced with panic. The crowd feels like it's too much, the noise, the lights attacking his senses. Cristina's body pressed against his.
"Do you want another drink?" Breaking her calm, she nods and doesn't bother opening her eyes, continuously swaying to the beat.
He parts the crowd, their faces staring back at him as he gently passes everyone, their skin cold against his touch. Moving towards the bar, he catches the bartender's eyes, throwing her a nod as he approaches.
It's quieter here, but only barely. The lights aren't as intense, instead they're bathed in a warm glow from the underlights of the bar.
Desmond takes a moment to catch his breath, letting the feeling of the pounding of the floor through the soles of his feet ground him as his heart tries to catch up.
Leaning his forearms onto the bar he takes a deep breath, pressing his forehead into his hands. He's the only one waiting for a drink, the rest of the area is deserted.
"Hey, don't you bartend at that place in Greenwich?" She starts, thinking for a moment "I think it's called Bad Weather?" She leans across the counter, a breath away from him, her black lipstick makes her teeth look too white.
She's tall and willowy, her yellow halter a pop against her dark skin, its plunging neckline seems a little dangerous with a job that involves so much movement. One hand rests under her chin in contemplation, the other holds a shaker protectively. Her long fingers grasping the top tightly as she places it onto the counter.
"I do, have you been? That doesn't really seem like your scene" Desmond shouts over the music. Bad Weather is definitely not her scene. A dive bar in Greenwich village where all the students come to pretend like they were born and bred in the village.
But trust fund kids from Connecticut just don't have the same pizazz as the kids from the Upper East Side. Something about how they just seemed to fit in always makes Desmond feel uncomfortable.
These fake New Yorkers don't realise that the city is made of misfits and ne'er do wells, always running from their problems because they're too dumb to solve them. The constant chase of stability, one slip and you'll fall from the precipice you've worked so hard to build. One slip and you're running back home to wherever you came from.
But he doesn't have that option. No home to run to, no parents to bail him out. So here he is, just another face in the crowd struggling to get by.
This city has a way of sucking the life out of you when it wants to. The anonymity of it all becomes taxing after a while. Throwaway interactions with people you may never see again, no small talk just business.
Having someone recognize him pulls him out of his bitterness, his dream state that gives him a touch of hope for living in this city of millions.
"A friend of mine was in an Off Broadway show recently, we went for drinks after." She flashes a smile, full lips parting, her tightly coiled hair shifting as she tilts her head to the side. Desmond gives a gentle nod of approval.
"That checks out. Did you have my signature cocktail?" Her face contorts in confusion for a second, dark brows furrowing over her wild dark eyes before there's a flash of recognition.
"You mean the Shirley Templar?" He can hear her shrill laugh over the music.
"That's the one! What did you think?" She shakes her head gently, halo of hair around her face bouncing with the movement. Closing her eyes in laughter she composes herself before responding.
"Can I give you my version?"
"Make it two" She turns on her heel getting to work and Desmond watches the dance floor again.
Nestled between the entrance and the bathrooms, the long bar that services the lower floor is always the best place to people watch. The hallway to the bathroom is covered floor to ceiling, wall to wall in little mirrored squares that allow the lights to dance all over the bar.
The lights switch from purple to pink, throwing warm tones and enveloping everyone on the dance floor with soft light. Their exposed skin is shiny and slick with sweat.
He can just barely make out Cristina, close to the centre, her eyeliner glowing when the black lights turn to her.
"Here, on the house" She flashes another smile and Desmond gives a nod.
"Next time you're in Greenwich it'll be my treat"
"I see you here more than you will see me there" She gives a wink before turning away to another patron.
Their takeaway interaction is now a little more than just business, he made a real connection.
Desmond makes his way back to the centre, sliding past people, trying not to spill their drinks when his eyes catch something. Someone who doesn't belong. He can feel his brows furrow as his world comes back into focus.
Sad eyes meet his, this kid can't be older than eighteen.
He can feel a pull deep within his chest, like a string has been attached to his muscles. A gentle tug across the expanse of the room, like the universe is trying to tell him something.
Like when the big bang happened, and when atoms split and multiplied, theirs were once together.
Brown shaggy hair, long and dishevelled, hangs loosely around his shoulders. When he smiles it's electric, the corner of his lip tugging upward in a way that seems effortless. This boy moves with the beat and Desmond can see nothing but himself as he gets lost. Lost within someone he's never met, never even seen before.
They share a moment, through the crowd, a quick smile and the tugging becomes almost too intense to bear. Then it's gone. Just like that, he disappears back into the crowd and Desmond feels like something is missing.
The sudden calm is replaced with panic.
"Did you get those drinks?" Cristina stirs him but the feeling doesn't leave, the panic doesn't slow. This new absence has created a rift in his soul, a crack he never knew existed until this very moment.
He stays calm, handing Cristina her drink and they begin to dance together once more. He tries to get lost, focusing on the constant thump, looking at the aerial acrobats, but he can't shake the feeling.
The weird familiarity of someone he has never seen before. He can feel the edges of a name in his mind but it's just vowels and hard consonants.
The name feels soft, but mischievous. He compartmentalises the feeling, trying to push it away, down into a box to unpack later. Down with memories he rarely visits or wants to remember.
When suddenly the tugging is back, at the edge of his mind, the gentle pulling of a string. The coaxing of muscles and a whisper that tells him to look, so he does.
He's closer this time, reaching his hands up his fingertips brush the edges of the silks that hang from the ceiling. He closes his eyes, swaying in time, the girl he's with doing the same.
Ezio
The name arrives at the forefront of his mind as the boy looks directly at him, eyes narrowing like they're sharing a secret. In a way they are, his face almost a mirror of his own.
Desmond touches his lip absently, Cristina looks up at him in confusion, pulling his hand away and placing it back onto her hip.
Why does Desmond feel such an affinity for this person? He's never felt this way before, never felt this connection with a complete stranger.
A hand finds his face, small and warm, Cristina pulls his lips to meet hers. She kisses him before pulling away, hands pressed on either side of his face she's forcing him to look at her.
"Wanna get out of here" Her eyes lock onto his, deep, dark and never ending. He tries to focus on this moment, letting her take him out of his own head.
"Yes" They escape the dance floor, her hand entwines into his, she leads tugging him out into the sweet summer air, the night sky blooming into a starless night above Bushwick.
"Do you live close to here?" His question comes out almost breathless as he gulps in the cool air.
She stops for a moment, rifling through her bag before procuring a cigarette. Lighting it, she takes a long drag like she's contemplating what he asked.
"Oh no, I live with five other people in a three bedroom apartment. We're going back to your place" He tries to hide the shock on his face.
"But I also have roommates," Desmond informs her, taking the cigarette from her offering hand. He notices her nails, they're long and painted a dark vampy red.
"But do you have five of them?" Her tone is flat. He shakes his head.
"No I only have two"
"See, it's New York City baby, everyone has roommates. Can't pay rent if you don't have at least one!" She gives a mocking laugh, offering up the last drag of her cigarette.
"So what do you do anyways?" He takes the cigarette from her, rolling it between his index finger and thumb.
"I thought you didn't want to know?" She shoots him a mischievous look through her lashes.
It's true, he doesn't want to get close to her, but he's curious about her living situations. She does have a point though, everyone in New York has roommates.
The city would chew you up and spit you out if you didn't, but he decides not to press her any further. Instead, they walk to the subway looking for city rats and talking about nothing.
"Okay, we like Cristina." Desmond doesn't bother looking up from his breakfast as Lila slides into the bistro table, settling herself into the chair across from him. Robbie settles into the couch next to them.
"When did you two get in last night?" He asks his oatmeal, stirring it absently.
He can never shake the farm breakfast, something about the steel cut oats comforts him. Although this iteration has much more molasses than his father would ever allow.
"Just after you two apparently." Robbie raises his eyebrows, his sass is especially annoying this morning.
Rolling his neck he lifts his eyes to see Robbie's interrogation face.
Lila repositions herself, her long legs are bare and she's stolen his Joy Division shirt again.
They're both sporting left over glitter from last night, it sparkles in the mid morning sun that seeps through the skylight.
Robbie gives a bit of a huff and Desmond can feel the annoyance he's trying to conjure.
"Hey, you know the glitter rule. You both need to shower and vacuum." Desmond changes the subject, levelling his eyes at Lila in particular. He points his spoon at her in an effort to seem menacing.
Robbie grimaces, "We will, we will. But first! You are going to tell us about this girl!"
Desmond rolls his eyes. Lila shifts in her chair, pulling her leg under her and leaning across the table, planting both her elbows down firmly. He can feel the weight of her stare as it bores into him.
"I know as much as you know." His nonchalant shrug causes Robbie to groan miserably.
He doesn't want to look up from his bowl, he knows Lila's pouting.
"We only know her name though." Lila says, he tries to shrug once more but can't help a glance in her direction.
Her pout hits him full force, he stares at her full lips briefly before his gaze flicks back to stare in her eyes. Big and brown, they look deep, brows knit together in a needy way. Hair thrown into a ponytail that has obviously been slept on, her makeup flaking.
She lets out a childish huff.
"Exactly. There were no strings attached, just a fun night out. You should know the type." His shrug is a bit more bitter this time, but he knows only Lila catches it.
He ignores her as she narrows her gaze, standing up and walking into the kitchen. Her eyes follow him. His movements are slow, turning the tap on, letting the water run, he hopes the more time he takes the less she will pester him.
From his spot at the kitchen island he has a full view of Lila's novelty underwear. The 'Have A Nice Day' in bold bubblegum pink bubble letters has never been more mocking.
Inhaling softly, she places her palms on the table, "Well, that's how we started" Lila throws a look to Robbie who returns it with a wink.
She knows what she's doing to him, but she stays there, letting him suffer a little. She stands, making her way to the couch.
"Too bad I'm gay, sweetheart." Her sigh is as fake as Desmond's attempt to focus on the dishes. He rolls his eyes at her dramatic collapse into Robbie's outstretched arms.
"That's not what's going to happen with Cristina. I don't even know what she does. I don't even know her last name. I'm positive she doesn't want something serious." Desmond places his dish in the rack to dry before settling into the chair across from them. Lila's eyes follow his hand as it rakes through his hair.
A breeze comes in through their open window, bringing in the scent of exhaust and bagels. Desmond catches himself staring at the two little trails of glitter wandering around the room. He clenches his jaw until it hurts, aggravating his raging hangover.
Lila fiddles with a button on Robbie's shirt as her face tenses, "Doesn't matter what she does, Des, as long as she makes rent in this city. That's all that matters." She chides at him, throwing a glance to the closed bedroom door situated across from the communal living space. Robbie follows her eyes before grinning, catching her fiddling hand as she sits haphazardly on his lap.
"Speaking about rent. When are you moving in, sweetheart? We have a vacancy." Lila huffs pushing off his chest and resettling next to him. Desmond glances tensely at the exchange, but focuses a perplexed look on Robbie.
"I thought Chris was just spending the summer in Cape Cod like all those rich kids do. He decided not to come back this time?" Robbie shakes his head.
It's no secret between them that Desmond doesn't get along with Chris. Many drunken nights have been filled with him complaining to Lila about everything Chris does wrong.
"Nope! Chrissie's gone for good at the end of the month!" He responds and Lila rolls her eyes, putting her arm around Robbie, pulling his head into her shoulder.
"Yeah no, I have a great apartment. I'm never moving. I'm dying there." Her voice is strong and matter of fact.
Robbie whines pitifully, standing up abruptly and moving towards their cleaning closet. Desmond settles that he must have seen all the annoyed looks.
"You live in the middle of nowhere! Why-" Robbie starts.
"Queens is not in the middle of nowhere!" She scowls deeply at him and Desmond can't help but chuckle.
"And why are we always here on the weekends then? Hmm? Is it because all the fun places are- let me get this straight- in Brooklyn of all places?" Robbie, always the drama queen, throws his arms up in exasperation. He assumes a righteous pose before diverting his attention back to searching for the vacuum.
Lila ignores him, "Speaking of all the fun places in Brooklyn… Do you work tonight, Des? Or can we go back and woo Cristina once more?" She directs all of her teasing attention to Desmond now, dwelling on him.
Robbie yelps indignantly, "Don't change the subject!" She waves her hand nonchalantly before he can continue. His glare looks like it wants to burn her, but wouldn't even succeed at lighting a match.
Lila punctuates her words with hand movements, "You. Me. Robbie. Lots of drinks, we can either wingman you so you can date this girl or we'll get you laid again. You're always a lot more pleasant when satisfied" Desmond lets his head fall back, stubbornly staring at the ceiling while his blush subsides. His answer comes out as irritated and annoyed.
"If you like Cristina so much, why don't you ask her out?" Lila's laugh is soft and smooth.
Robbie finally finds the vacuum with a triumphant noise and begins to clean up the hideous glitter trail with their pitiful little Dirt Devil. Lila stares at him appreciatively as he hunches over on his hands and knees, methodically sucking up all the pieces.
Desmond tries to ignore the feeling building in his chest by occupying himself by staring out the window.
"Well Desmond, not all of us enjoy nothing but one night stands. Perhaps if I knew what she did for work, I could give her a chance. She could kill mice for all I know!" Lila barks, putting emphasis on the one night stands. The tightness in his chest grows, but he squashes the feelings, not wanting them to resurface.
Robbie turns the vacuum off, straightening to his full height before speaking in a condescending tone, "You mean like the last girl you dated…what was her name? Sylvia?" he looks to Desmond for confirmation, ignoring Lila's look of horror as the realisation hits her.
"Yeah Sylvia…Wasn't she getting her PhD? It was something pharmacology related…" Desmond finishes Robbie's thought and Lila throws her hands up in frustration. She glares at each in turn. Robbie rolling his eyes, and spotting another pile of glitter, falls back down on all fours, vacuum blazing once more.
Lila pouts, crossing her arms while she waits for the noise to stop, her annoyance clearly apparent. Desmond can't help but smirk.
"She still killed mice! Mice! And she wore her shoes inside, I don't want city dirt in my nice little apartment. Besides, she was way too annoying, so you never know, it could totally be a common trait with those … mice killing types." Lila sounds petulant. Rubbing his eyes gingerly, Desmond raises his eyebrows in defeat.
"Ok fine, we'll go back again tonight. She may not even be there though so don't get too hopeful!" He allows her a gloating look, and he can see her relish it.
"Then we'll just have to hit up every bar in the area until we find her." Her wicked grin sends a shiver down Desmond's spine.
Robbie stops vacuuming, appearing behind the couch, hands on either side of Lila's shoulders. He's clearly still upset she brushed off his offer of moving in with them earlier.
"You wanna know who doesn't kill mice and doesn't wear their shoes inside? Us, we make great roommates you know" She lets out a squawk of annoyance, hitting his hands away and glaring at him.
"I don't even work in the city! I work in Queen's!" She yells childishly throwing her arms in the air.
"But I'll make you French Toast every Sunday, just the way you like it. You and Desmond can eat your gross oatmeal every morning…" Robbie trails attempting to persuade her.
"I will think about it." Robbie can't hide his grin. "I said think! I will think about it!" Lila corrects loudly before changing the subject.
"Can you please be a little more discreet about your drinking?" Robbie hisses through his teeth, glaring at Lila.
Desmond can see her relish in his anger, batting her long lashes before ripping open the tinfoil top on her single serve wine. She downs it quickly and Desmond can feel Robbie seething.
He does his best to hide his discomfort but it's clearly written across his face. A group of girls at the uptown stop across from them toast the air, their giggles echoing through the tunnel.
Feeding into Lila's self righteousness, she mimics their toast, hand to her chest in fake modesty.
"I don't know who you are, but fun Robbie should have come with us." Lila huffs, staring down her nose at him. "If I wanted someone to tell me what to do, I would find a daddy." She taps her foot menacingly, heel clicking against the slick tile of the subway platform. Her voice drips with sarcasm, but she shoots Desmond a wink anyways.
He flushes in response, the tightness in his chest from earlier returning.
Reaching across Robbie, he grabs for her purse, no longer wishing to be sober on this journey.
"I know you have more wine in there," Desmond says with a desperate tone. Robbie backs away from the two of them, throwing his hands up in defeat.
"You two are ridiculous" His body language says disappointment, but Desmond knows deep down there's a part of him that wants to participate.
"See, even Desmond is into it." Turning her back to Robbie she opens the clasp on her purse. "Keep this up and we may end up in the same bed tonight Des" Another wink.
He can feel his palms begin to sweat, moisture pooling against the plastic of the cup in his hand. Ripping off the top he takes a long swig, wishing for the tightness to go away.
"How many of these did you bring?" Robbie asks with an exasperated tone.
Desmond knows she's been drinking all afternoon on their fire escape, not a care in the world, soaking in the city sunshine before it slips behind all the buildings. He can see her sway a little, her heels adding a good four inches to her short stature. Taking a step closer to her, hands ready as she begins to tip.
"Enough to party" She's beginning to slur, her fingers fumble with the clasp that's already open as she shows the contents of her purse with a smirk. Once again Robbie lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Why the fuck do you have so many" He interrogates her but she only answers with a shrug. Desmond has never seen Robbie reduced to being the adult of the group.
Usually on their nights out, Robbie goes off and does whatever he pleases while Desmond makes sure everyone gets home in one piece.
Lila gives a shrug, "came in a ten pack" seems to be her way of justifying her excessive drinking. She tosses her empty cup, opening another and sharing her spoils with Desmond once more.
"You were going to drink all these by yourself? Lila you're nuts." Desmond chides, taking another from her outstretched hand.
"I can't believe I'm about to do this…give me one." He lets out a long sigh and Desmond can see him admit defeat, accepting his fate along with their shenanigans. Popping the top, he takes a cautious sip before his face contorts.
"You couldn't have sprung for a nice Pinot Grigio? You had to go with the Chardonnay?" He says, nose scrunching, lips puckering, tongue flicking between his turquoise painted lips.
"The correct response is thank you." Lila rolls her eyes in a grandiose way.
They down the last of their drinks quickly as their train pulls in. Boarding, they huddle together, keeping close amongst the crowds of people.
The platform may have been empty, but the train is packed.
Desmond takes a moment aboard the loud Saturday night train and composes himself. He stares out the glass doors, collecting his breath and reining in his fluttering heart.
Robbie and Lila lay out their plan of attack with military precision, the recent spat on the platform forgotten.
Lila speaks animatedly with her hands as she always does, her long fingers punctuating every sentence. She brushes against him, pushing in close as a few more people board the train and he catches a whiff of her perfume.
Closing his eyes he takes another breath.
The train on the opposite track rumbles to a stop, screeching loudly, pulling him out of his thoughts. There's a tug and something tells him to look left, so he does. A sensation he recognizes beckons to him. He can hear the conductor call out the next stop, the sound of the doors closing seems to be aeons away.
A man, with the same scar, sits and stares out the window. They share a look and Desmond can feel his expression contort into disbelief. Like looking into a dirty mirror, the man cracks a crooked grin just as the train pulls away.
He shakes his head briskly, pulling himself back to reality. There is no tugging this time, no strings, just someone who looks a lot like him on another train. Can it have been nothing more than a trick of his reflection? Was he the one grinning back?
The train begins to move, steadying himself, he catches Lila with a thud, holding on to her as they pick up speed. He hears the tail end of their conversation and looks between them.
"What are you two plotting? You know I can hear you right?" Lila looks up at him, her bird-like eyes going wide in a child-like expression.
"It's nothing you have to worry about" Her tone is serious and she places her head against his shoulder, keeping it there until they get off.
"I don't see her!" Lila shouts as the dance floor moves to the beat, an ocean of people flowing as one. Her head bobs around as she finds gaps in the crowd to look through.
Desmond closes his eyes, no longer wanting to look at her pouting face. He counts in his head, listening to nothing but the pounding of the beat, letting it take him. He reaches towards her, opening his eyes before placing his hands on her hips, her latex skirt is warm from body heat.
She looks up at him, brows knitting together, clearly upset he isn't helping her search. Her lashes flutter, mouth parting like she's about to speak.
"Shhh…we're dancing" He touches his forehead to hers and he can see the words die in her throat.
He enjoys her closeness, the feeling of her hands as they wrap around his body, the smell of her shampoo as she tucks under his chin. This is all he wants, all he needs.
Robbie is off getting drinks and attempting to hit on one of the Go-go dancers he's forever trying to take home.
Desmond can feel Lila relax, muscles melting beneath his hands as he moves them up her body to settle in the middle of her back. She snakes her arm around his neck, pulling him closer, cradling his head down and forcing him to look at her.
His heart pounds in his ribcage, a trapped little bird trying to break free. He wonders if she can feel it, if her heart is pounding too. Her eyes flick to his lips and she looks like she wants to kiss him.
Their relationship is much more complicated than he ever could imagine. This beautiful wild girl enchants him, entices him, but she's forbidden.
Forbidden by friendship.
Their drunken musings with one another, their one night stands, it was all supposed to be without feeling. No strings attached. So what if they end up in the same bed together every couple of months, looking for that release. The connection that seems to pull them together.
He does his best to keep his feelings in check, but sometimes the way she looks at him catches him off guard. In the moments where she's unbridled and full of emotion, when she looks like she could actually fall for him, it's those moments before she steals herself back behind that party girl persona.
The moments they share with one another, just the two of them in the middle of the night after drinking their cares away. Cuddling up on the couch under blankets doing nothing but talking and sneaking kisses.
The way he feels comfortable enough to confide in her, Lila knows more about his past than anyone else. And she never judges, a few snide comments about off grid hippies, but it's always followed with one of her toothy grins. The look she gets in her eyes whenever he brings up his childhood, the deep ache that forms in her brown eyes, shows how much she cares.
The way her hand fits into his, the feel of her skin against his own. How she reaches for the comfort of him when she's about to melt down.
He knows how to quell her anxieties, protect her from harm, and bring her back to reality. But she doesn't always need to be taken care of.
Her voracious nature engulfs him sometimes and he just allows her to take him along for the ride.
Her breath comes out in puffs on the bare skin of his neck. He always forgets how short she is, until they're pressed up against one another.
"I like it when you're tall" He tells her matter of factly and he can feel her laugh, a deep laugh that he can feel in his bones.
One of her hands leaves his chest and he knows Robbie is back with their drinks. Immediately he misses the warmth of her fringers, the grounding sensation of her palm, the way she tapped out the beat over and over again.
Opening his eyes he takes hold of the cup.
"What is it?" He shouts and Robbie just shrugs.
"No clue, I told her to make something fun" Desmond takes a sip, a Shirley Temple with Tequila, the same drink he had the day before.
Lila looks up at him with a perplexed expression as Desmond laughs. Robbie's face contorts slightly, never one to willingly drink Tequila.
"The bartender is really cute isn't she?" He gets out and Robbie raises a brow.
"Not really my type, but Lila might like her" She gives a shrug before opening their circle and letting Robbie back in.
They take a moment to down their drinks and look up in awe at the performers.
Desmond reaches a hand up, brushing the silk before letting it fall to his side. He sways to the beat, closing his eyes once more, thinking of nothing more than the pounding of the floor and how it matches up with his heart tonight.
He can feel himself slipping, deeper and deeper into intoxication, his movements no longer smooth, his feet no longer steady.
"There she is!" His heart stalls when he hears Lila's shrill voice, following her hurried pointing finger across the dance floor.
He can just barely make out the side of Cristina's face, her mouth open in laughter as she leans back against her dance partner. Eyeliner glowing under the blacklight once more she closes her mouth in a smirk.
A cage lowers and some of the crowd scatters, a gap opens and Desmond's eyes widen.
"Hey! That guy has the same scar you do?" Lila shouts in shock, her head whipping back and forth between the two of them.
It's the same person he saw the night before. Eyes closed he buries his nose into Cristina's neck, Desmond can see her arch into him. Dishevelled hair pulled back, his sharp jaw and strong nose cast shadows as the lights dance over them.
That's when he felt it, the string that tied them together, that pulled them close last night, the one that filled him with dread and anxiety, had snapped. He feels like he's falling. Like the entire floor has opened and he has nothing to grab onto as he free falls into nothing.
The boy looks different tonight, older. There's a hint of stubble on his cheeks, the whisper of lines on his face, and his eyes don't hold the same carefree joy as they did last night.
They share a look and his dark eyes are swimming with contentment. He looks calm, the hint of a smile pulling at his scarred lip. Desmond can't ruin this.
The string that brought them together, two colliding atoms splitting into pieces, is gone. Burned up and scattering into the wind. His feeling of falling continues and he can't tell if it's the string or the drinks.
Maybe it's nothing more than a coincidence, maybe it's fate and this boy is here to bring a change Desmond desperately needs in his life. A little bit of direction in his wandering path.
There was a point when he thought the monotony and anonymity of the city would deliver him peace. The big dream he watched everyone chase was crumbling before his very eyes. He needs to find his own dream.
He lets out a long breath, bringing his attention back to their group. "Come on, I'll wingman you, the bartender is pretty cute." He says, holding the back of Lila's head as he speaks to her. He can feel her nod, can feel the look of disappointment on her face as they leave the dance floor.
This is just another attempt at Lila finding someone for him so she doesn't have to fill that void.
Taking a breath, the expanse of space opening on the edge of the floor is cold but he welcomes it and so does she.
Her makeup is running from sweat, Desmond pulls her off to the side so he can swipe it away with his thumbs. He pats down a few flyaways gently before kissing her forehead.
He can feel her tensing, she's staring at him and he can see her mind racing. This is not the way things were supposed to go tonight. They aren't supposed to end up in the same bed, they can't end up together, not tonight.
Desmond can see as she tries to speak, he knows she's going to apologise, to try to make things right.
"If you wanna take her back to ours you can. It's a lot closer than Queens. I can make myself scarce so you can have my room." He says before she can say anything, before she can try to kiss him. There's a moment of hurt in her eyes before she bursts into a grin. The part girl is back, no more feelings tonight.
Her hand is cold against his cheek, she lets it linger for a moment, like she's going to say something, but she stops, mouth opening then closing.
They head to the bar.
"How did you like my little addition?" The same girl from the night before stands behind the bar. She's in a skintight pink dress tonight that matches her lipstick perfectly.
"The Tequila really packs a punch!" Desmond says with a laugh. "I didn't ask your name yesterday and I should have, I'm Desmond, this is Lila" They share a bit of a look and he knows he won't have to be a wingman for much longer.
"I'm Elle" He lets them chat for a moment, staring into the crowd of people longingly, wishing for the calm that washed over him last night to return.
He catches glimpses of Cristina, still with Ezio and they're smiling. It almost sets his mind at ease, their red string of fate no longer pulsing between them, no longer pulling him along.
Taking a deep breath he returns to the conversation.
"When do you get off?" Lila shouts leaning over the counter.
"Around two, there's an after party If you want to come?" Elle looks to Desmond as Lila agrees.
"We have another friend with us, if he doesn't go home with that guy can he come too?" Desmond points to a dark haired, speedo wearing contortionist swinging from the rafters as his partner holds on to their hoop.
"Oh he's coming to the after party, your friend will have better luck wooing him there" She gives a laugh, pouring a row of shots.
"Here, meet me out back just after last call, I'll take you to the after party."
Desmond and Lila share a look.
This is going to be a long night.
Desmond stands with his back against the wall, observing quietly as everyone heads off in different directions.
Lila is chain smoking the way she always does when she drinks too much and doesn't know what to do with her hands.
He reaches for her purse, her eyes are trained to some dark place across the street and she feigns mock surprise. Swatting his hands away she knows exactly what he wants.
"You should ask a lady before going into her purse!" She squeals before falling into peels of laughter. Reaching into the zippered pocket of her purse, her long red nails clicking against the lighter before she finds it.
She lights his cigarette, taking a few puffs before passing it off.
His hand brushes hers as she takes it, soft and cold her eyes meet his.
"I'm sorry tonight didn't work out the way I planned." Her voice is quiet, the night air taking it away into the distance.
He fixates on the cigarette for a moment, watching it burn before bringing it to his lips and taking a drag. Lila never apologises.
She leans against the wall next to him, placing her head onto his shoulder, her eyes closing.
He can smell her perfume. Hydrangeas and bergamot mixed with sweat from dancing. The smell is nostalgic to him, the floral notes mixed with salt brings him back to the farm.
Lacing her fingers into his she holds his hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance before slinking to the ground. Following her down, he allows her hand to stay entwined in his, her head resting on his shoulder.
The touch is comforting. She stretches out her long legs, letting her feet splay out like a child, her boots land with a thud in the dirt.
They sit in silence for a long time, he sneaks glances her way, taking stock of her before they move on to the next party.
Her pantyhose are ripped from when she tripped trying to get to the bar earlier, makeup smudged, hair in disarray it forms a frizzy red halo around her head.
He smooths her hair as she closes her eyes.
Suddenly the back door opens with a slam and Elle emerges, clutching her backpack tightly to her chest.
"Are you ready?" Her eyes look wild, pupils dilated. She's reapplied her pink lipstick and there's a little smudge of it on her teeth.
Lila nods sleepily. Desmond stands first and she clutches on to him, hoisting herself onto her platform boots.
"Alright let's go!" Elle shouts excitedly, throwing her bag over her shoulder and grabbing onto Lila's hand. Following close, Desmond steadies them as they trudge to the subway.
The after party is in a random warehouse in Bushwick behind a hidden door. Elle explains as they walk to the subway station.
"A friend of a friend's parents owns this place apparently. They just let them use it for anything, so they decided on a speakeasy." She says with a nonchalant shrug. Lila hangs on her every word, her large eyes glassy from drinking.
They follow a long brick wall where Elle points out a single yellow brick beside a telephone box.
Shooting them a look, she holds up a hand telling them to stop. Pulling the door to the telephone box open she climbs in and picks up the receiver, dialling an unknown number and Desmond and Lila watch.
"Hello, I'm here to see the banker" There's a loud clang as the back of the box opens up revealing a tall man in a suit.
"Hello Elle, two guests tonight?" Lila's eyes widen and she takes a step back, Desmond places a hand on the small of her back, steadying her on her shoes.
"Yes please, do we have the usual booth? The others will be here shortly, Fran and Damon are closing tonight" With a nod the man steps aside and Elle reaches back a hand, pulling Lila into the dark corridor.
Desmond keeps his hands on Lila's hips protectively as she stumbles along. There's a light at the end of the hall, a chandelier in the middle of a cement room, draped in velvet.
The back wall is lined with mirrors, and a long bar is situated in front of it, the spirits lining the mirrored wall, their glass reflecting in the dim light.
Definitely not the same vibe as before. The music here is softer, more intentional, still loud and difficult to talk over, but very different.
Elle pulls them along, making eye contact with the bartender before settling into an empty booth. The round alcove with its low table and high seating adds more privacy than the vast expanse of the open dance floor filled with bodies.
She situates herself, placing her bag down and stretching her neck before levelling her gaze.
Desmond and Lila sit across from her, and Lila is hanging on her every word. He can't figure out if it's because she likes Elle or if she's too drunk to be left alone.
"Whatever you want, order it. We don't pay for drinks here" Lila shoots him a devious look and he tries not to groan.
After one round, Desmond forces some water into Lila before allowing her to drink more. Elle does her best to catch up, taking shots before the others arrive.
Soon they're all on the dance floor and Desmond is alone in the booth.
Robbie has finally landed a night with the contortionist. He looks odd, fully clothed and not suspended above a crowd. He wonders what it's like going from commanding a room full of people to blending in. The dichotomy of his existence baffles him.
He breathes deeply, placing his head against the table, trying to shake the feeling from earlier in the night. The tugging sensation, the pulling feeling, the sound of someone else's voice inside his own head.
"Ezio…" He whispers.
A name he doesn't know and can't figure out where it came from.
There is a sliver of relief in that uneasy feeling. Their fates are no longer intertwined it seems, but how were they connected in the first place?
His weird familiarity with a random stranger in a crowd. He has never experienced this before.
Not on the farm, never in the city. His mind no longer feels like his own after the intrusion of someone else's voice.
He feels a new tugging sensation in his chest and is trying to decide if it's exhaustion or the strings once more. Riding out the waves, the tugging intensifies until he stands.
Making eye contact with Lila he motions towards the door, signalling his departure. She nods in acknowledgement, looking for Robbie.
Escaping into the night air, he takes a deep breath before finding his way to the subway, feet dragging along the pavement. Maybe the tugging is just exhaustion.
His chest tightens as he slumps into the seat, skin aching he rolls his shoulder back, trying to release the tension gathering at the base of his skull. He closes his eyes for a moment, head tilted back against the glass.
Riding the subway late at night always seems to bring him peace, the rocking cars and screeching brakes.
"Our words are not meant for you…" Opening his eyes he looks around the empty car.
He gets off at the next stop, not wanting to hear anymore disembodied voices and meanders through the Lower East Side towards the bar. He knows Tara is still there. Catching her eyes through the glass as she scrubs, he stands at the door. She shoots him a quizzical look, putting her hands on her narrow hips before unlocking the door.
"The bar is closed sir" She can't help but crack a smile. "Wanna have a drink?" Tara locks the door behind him, pulling down a bottle of bourbon from a hidden cupboard on the top shelf.
"No ice today, I've already emptied the machine" She says with remorse but knows he doesn't care.
"How was it tonight? As slow as yesterday?" He asks, watching her. Shrugging she pours a healthy amount into a short glass.
"Slower than normal, we had a group of college kids that tipped with daddy's money though, that was a bonus." Always a good thing when rich kids rack up their parents' cards.
"What's up Des, haven't seen you like this in a while" She leans on the bar, staring at him with a knowing look. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, holding the glass with two hands.
"I just feel…" He weighs his words, trying to decide what to tell her. His past traumas of the farm always make him feel uneasy opening up. Joking about being raised in a cult and actually talking about it are two very different things.
What can he tell her? That he heard a voice in his head? That he feels a tugging sensation that led him back here?
"I feel weird…not like myself…" He picks up gauging her reaction and all he can see is concern. Her brows tighten and that little wrinkle appears on her forehead, the one she gets when she worries.
"Do you want to take some time off? I can cash out your tips or advance you a little if you need it" Her hand reaches across the bar landing on his, cold but still comforting.
Something about her seems off, but he can't quite pinpoint it.
Letting it slide, he takes a swig placing the glass back on the counter before letting out a sigh.
"I don't know what's worse…feeling off and working or not having work to take my mind off it." Letting out a bit of a laugh he can hear the uneasiness in his voice.
"Wanna come over? We can have a few more drinks and watch the sunrise" He nods, Tara snags the bottle of bourbon. They share the same disdain for the owner, but even he shoots her a look.
"What's he gonna do? Fire me?" She says with a bitter laugh.
Desmond can feel himself melting, the anxiety falling into the pit of his stomach as they walk down the empty streets. The tugging is no longer there, but the relief he felt when the string snapped is also gone.
He follows her along listening to her talk, catching the cadence of her voice as she tells him stories from the night. She leads him through Greenwich, there's a few people milling around, boarding buses and off to wherever they're going.
Eyes trained to the ground, ears trained to her, his shoulder bumps into someone, his head snaps up and he's face to face with the same eyes from House of Yes.
But something is different. Seeing these eyes up close, he realises that these eyes are older, weathered, his forehead wrinkles and crow's feet noticeable.
Desmond stops for a moment, staring and it feels as if the world has stopped. He can no longer feel Tara close to him. There's an eternal moment where everything around them stops and shifts, but only slightly. Like a breeze hit the city all at once and the buildings let out a sigh.
The man speaks, breaking the silence.
"Sorry about that friend" His voice sounds sincere, soothing almost, as he pulls his hood up and disappears down a side street.
"Are you okay?" Tara touches his elbow gently, causing him to jump.
"Yeah…I'm okay…"
She doesn't speak the rest of the walk, sneaking glances in his direction as she picks up the pace, the sun peeking through the buildings.
They sit, silently, on her fire escape and pass the bottle she stole back and forth. Desmond takes a long swig, enjoying the burn of the cheap bourbon.
"Did you know that person?" She asks, still watching the sun, feet dangling over the edge. Desmond lets out a long breath thinking before answering.
He doesn't really know Ezio, but he feels like he does. His lined face feels more like home than New York ever will. Even the farm is a far cry from feeling like a home.
"I don't think so...why?" He says with a shrug, staring at the city expanse below them. Watching as the little ant like people begin their treks to work.
Sleepy people shuffling along the streets, no one speaking. It feels like a game, like he can pluck one person up and move them, change their whole life forever.
"You both had the same scar" She doesn't look at him when she says this, she stares out between the buildings, the rising sun shines gold on her honey coloured hair.
Desmond reaches up, touching his lip, feeling the old scar.
"Do you think he was a part of the same cult you grew up in?" Voice soft, she's clearly scared to pry. He makes fun of his past, his parents, even the end of the world, but there is a big difference between making fun of something and actually talking about it.
Pushing his forehead against the railing, Desmond closes his eyes, the early sunrise painting colours across his closed lids.
"I want to say I know him, it feels like I do, but I don't think I've ever seen him before. I can't place his face…" He licks his lips before continuing, taking a deep breath. "I just feel...like he's a part of me…" He lets his voice trail, turning to look at Tara.
Her eyes are glassy, from drinking and exhaustion. They stare at him but don't actually see him.
"Maybe it was just meant to be…maybe the universe is trying to tell you something…" Her voice is tired and distant when she speaks.
Maybe the strings are going to keep tugging him around and this is something he will just have to get used to. Maybe they will get stronger over time and he will lose all free will. Maybe the strings are nothing but the ramblings of a drunk man who is too tired to think.
He watches the horizon as the city wakes up once more. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but there are certain times where it almost pretends to be quiet. The moments of calm interspersed between the hustle and bustle are what Desmond craves, the quick breaths between hurried nights.
Tara leans into him closing her eyes, obviously exhausted, she lets her whole weight fall into him.
He allows her closeness, but this is so much different than with Lila. Tara flushes when her eyes flutter open, apologising for falling asleep and excusing herself.
She disappears into her apartment, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Let go… Let go Desmond… Just forget it. Forget it all.