Reaper [Zarry]

death six

My phone screen lights up. It's a message from him and I'm fumbling for the device, thumbs padding across the virtual keyboard.

I'll be there

The location is familiar to me, a nightclub on the East side of town. It's always crawling with people. There aren't any sequin dresses or chardonnay. No spritz of Versace perfume in the air or Chanel clutches. You never see men with popped collars and vivid, bright smiles. It's dingy and cramped, the place packed with handsy men and bold women. The style is avant garde, the music provactative.

It certainly isn't a place I would picture Harry. It's cheap draft beer and fist fights.

The irony of it all is the name itself.

Swanky.

As if. If grinding under strobe lights is considered lavish we have a major problem on our hands.

The whole idea is unsettling and I'm glad I agreed to tag along. I know nothing about his friend and it would be so easy for him to get carried away; to let someone take advantage of him. Chills creep up my spine and I force myself not to think about it.

Maybe this will be fun and we can get to know each other better. Besides, he deserves a celebration. One night out can't hurt.

You'd never disappoint 😊

I feel my heart soften like warm wax, grip on my phone loosening. How can someone possibly be so precious?

Melt me Harry.

My hair is a tousled mess. I attempt to fix it, running fingers through it. I figure I look decent enough but find myself brushing my teeth twice. I'm always paranoid I have bad breath or something stuck between my teeth.

I hail a cab and the driver cranks up the radio, some awful static music coming through the airwaves. It's better than chatting with him. His hair is greasy and slick, face pudgy. He seems like a nice enough guy but his cologne is so strong I nearly puke on the backseat.

He gets me to the club so I have no complaints, gladly slipping him money for the commute.

When I step inside my heart is racing, body fighting to get pass a mass of sweaty bodies, shirts stuck to slick skin.

He's easy to spot, laughter spilling out of him as he leans into a man's side.

I tap on his shoulder and a smile spreads across his face. He pulls me in for a hug, introducing me as a close friend.

"Niall," the lad says cheerily. He has pretty cobalt blue eyes and soft blond tufts of hair. "These are my mates Liam and Louis."

Liam has soft chocolate brown eyes and a warm smile. He looks dependable and strong; arms buff, posture relaxed.

The other one has sandy brown hair and crystal clear eyes, sly smirk on his face. He seems like the troublemaker of the group but extends his hand, giving mine a firm shake.

"Harry told us a lot about you."

"Oh," I say surprised, turning to Harry. His cheeks flush and I feel awful about his friend putting him on the spot like that. "You did? That's nice, I was really looking forward to this," I smile.

The tenseness seems to leave his body and he gives a lopsided grin.

"I'm glad."

I want to get away from his friends. It seems rude but his gaze is unwavering and you could slice the tension between us with a knife. All I want is me and him without interruption.