phi

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The venue is more crowded than you expected, or perhaps you and your date have arrived a tad later than is appropriate. Either way, it feels as though the entire London entertainment industry is in one room, given the stifling heat and the overpowering scent of designer cologne. 

“You okay?” your date asks, their hand resting comfortably on your waist. Their accent isn’t novel to you and yet the way the words sit in their particular cadence sends a shiver down your spine. 

You smile, slightly touched by their concern. “I’m fine, love. Just a bit warm.” 

“Yeah, it’s way too hot,” they agree, “probably because you’re here.” 

You giggle at the flirtation, but a spike of irritation hits. If your date had been someone else, he might have offered to get you a drink or better yet, walked you out to the balcony for some air. You reel in your thoughts, determined not to make comparisons between your current partner and someone from your past. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, though you notice that your date’s attention has already drifted. They nod, their gaze fixed on a group of important-looking executives in the far corner of the room. You don’t bother asking if they want a drink of their own. 

You maneuver your way through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar. You’re all but invisible among the London elite, save for one set of eyes that have been watching you since you first walked into the room. 

Sharky has since tuned out his friends’ chatter, his attention now focused on the way you’re drifting through the crowds. He hasn’t seen you since the day your relationship ended last year. You’d done an excellent job of avoiding him and his connections, despite the fact that London networks usually overlapped. 

However, this gala was too big to miss; in fact, deep down, he’d been counting on you being one of the attendees. What he wasn’t expecting to see was you on someone else’s arm, someone who happened to be a bigger name than all four of his friends combined.  

It rubs him the wrong way, seeing as the two of you ended because you disliked the spotlight and the price of fame. And yet, he’s distracted from his irritation because you are as stunning as he remembers. 

Taking in the way your hair is styled, the way your skin glows in what little light is dancing around the room, and how your body is accentuated in the elegant outfit you’ve chosen for the evening, Sharky can’t help but be at a loss for words. He watches you order a glass of something colourful and sparkling, your slim hand wrapping delicately around the bottom, and all coherent thoughts cease. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” he says abruptly, cutting Niko off mid-sentence. 

“You’re not allowed to drink, man,” Aj cuts in, a jester as always. 

“You know what I mean.” Sharky waves away his friends’ jokes and dives into the crowd, making a beeline for you. 

This cocktail is exactly what I needed, you muse as you take your first sips. It’s sweet, the way you usually like your drinks, with enough of a kick to remind you not to have too many. You take another sip, savouring the aroma of alcohol mixed with juice when another, more familiar scent finds its way to your nose. 

Cool and fresh, but heavy and enticing. Only one person wears cologne this distinct, but you make the connection too late. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Sharky’s voice is an invasion, a battering ram threatening to break down the door to memories you’ve kept locked away for months. 

“Sharmarke,” you acknowledge, your tone neutral. 

“Oh, that’s a bit cold, innit?” he says, leaning against the counter next to you. 

“Something has to be cool enough to fight off the heat in here.” You sip, then take a breath, readying yourself to see Sharky for the first time in months. You shouldn’t have bothered; you’ll always be unprepared for the sight in front of you. 

Sharky is dressed impeccably in an all-black tuxedo. It complements the black durag he always wears and pairs well with the silver necklaces adorning his neck. Your eyes flick to the bracelets around his wrists, the rings on his fingers. 

What jawn put him on those? you think, and you’re shocked at your own bitterness. 

“You’re pretty cool,” he says smoothly, the ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. 

You have to lift your glass to your lips to stifle your chuckle at yet another one of his ridiculous puns. Unlike earlier when your date made a smooth comment, no irritation rises. Instead, warmth rushes through your chest. 

“That was terrible,” you reply when you’re no longer at risk of giggling at his charm. 

“You enjoyed it though,” Sharky teases. “I’m surprised to see you here, you know. You’ve been pretty good at avoiding every big London social, not to mention us.” 

  Us? You look beyond Sharky, to the side of the venue that he came from. You clock his friends easily: Niko’s towering frame, Aj’s blond locks, Kenny’s glasses glinting in the lamplight, and Chunkz’s token belly laugh carries over the crowd. 

“Should’ve known all of you would be here,” you mutter, then louder you say, “I only came because I was invited.” 

“By your date?”  

You’re surprised by Sharky’s straightforwardness, but you don’t show it. Instead, you take another sip of your drink and look at him over the rim of your glass. 

“You’ve been watching me, huh?” you say, mirroring his mischievous tone from earlier. 

“You’re pretty hard to miss in a crowd,” he counters, still playful. 

“I was under the impression that I’m easy to miss,” you say, “considering you and your friends always seem to be looking for me at those…‘big London socials,’ as you say.” 

Sharky laughs. “One-nil.”

The corners of your lips turn up at his surrender. “Why are you actually here, Sharky? If you wanted to, you could’ve avoided me the whole night. It wouldn’t be that hard in this crowd.” 

“You’re the only one doing the avoiding,” Sharky says, his tone not as light as it was. He raises a hand, flagging down the bartender. “I came for a drink and you just happened to be here.” 

“Right,” you say, unconvinced. You down the rest of your glass, just as the bartender brings Sharky a glass of water. 

“And another one of those for the lady,” Sharky says, gesturing to your empty glass. “On me.” 

“You can’t buy me a drink, Sharks.” 

“Why not?” 

You look over at him and you can feel the lightheartedness of the last few minutes slowly vanishing. You may already be one drink in but you’ve never felt more sober. 

“Because I’m here with someone else,” you remind him, but you turn to the bartender anyway. “Make the next drink virgin please.”  

“I know you’re with someone else,” Sharky insists. He takes a long drink from his glass. “I literally saw you guys walk in—there’s no need to rub it in.” 

“That’s not what I’m doing.” 

“Then what are you doing?” Sharky asks. The mischief has left his voice, something melancholic replacing it. “What are you doing with—”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to ask that,” you say, shaking your head.  “We’re not really friends.”

“And I’m not the reason for that, am I?” Sharky retorts, then downs the rest of his water. He pushes the empty glass away, just as the bartender comes back with your drink. 

Sharky slides the mocktail over to you. In that moment when he’s turned towards you and in the light, you catch a glimpse of the hurt on his face. 

“I know that,” you admit, your voice gentle, “but you still have no right to comment on who I choose to spend my time with.”

“I do if it goes against the very reason you broke up with me,” Sharky says. This time, you hear the hurt in his voice. “What happened to wanting to stay out of the spotlight?”

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say with a shrug. You can hear how nonchalant you sound and you hate it. Sharky deserves better than your indifference. 

It has to be this way, you remind yourself. You’re both better off. 

It’s the same excuse you gave yourself when you walked away from him so many months ago. You can’t handle the spotlight, but given Sharky’s chosen career, he rightly belongs in it. The two things can’t co-exist. You just accepted it before he did. 

“And you couldn’t change your mind when you were with me?” Sharky asks. He doesn’t even bother to hide his sadness. It wraps around his words and hangs in the air between you two. 

“No, I couldn’t—is that what you want to hear?” you snap. 

Sharky takes a step away from you, as if the words have physically hit him. You regret them immediately. 

“Don’t do this here, Sharks,” you say. Your chest feels constricted; whether it’s from the sudden weight of you slowly realizing all that you lost or the oppressive warmth of the room, you don’t know. You can’t be bothered to figure it out. “I don’t want– I can’t do this here.”

Sharky must see your distress because he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. Your heart squeezes at the sight of him trying to collect himself for you. 

“I just want to know one thing,” Sharky says. “Just one thing, please.”

You’re about to shake your head, but then he punctuates his plea with your name. Your knees almost buckle at the sound. 

“Are you happy?” 

If your second drink had any alcohol in it, you’re sure you would have burst into tears. Only Sharky would worry about your happiness while you were in the process of re-breaking his heart. 

“I don’t know,” you breathe, struggling for air. “Are you? Is anyone?” 

I would be, with you, is what Sharky thinks immediately. He’s not stupid enough to say it, but he knows it’s written clearly in his eyes, if you know him well enough to read it. 

You can barely look at him though; his heartbroken, yearning gaze is too much. It pushes against the mental dam you’ve created to keep all your memories of him at bay; if you don’t get away right now, everything will come flooding back. And you refuse to say or do anything stupid in front of hundreds of people. 

“You shouldn’t have come and talk to me,” you murmur, grabbing your glass. It’s still full and some of your drink splashes onto the counter. “I’m so sorry– I just– I have to go.”

You turn away quickly, walking into the crowd before he can utter another word. 

Sharky stands frozen, watching you wade through the sea of people. He knows who you’re trying to get to and yet he can’t keep his eyes off you. 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he watches you walk away from him for a second time. The scent of your perfume lingers in the air and the sweet blend of odours brings on a slew of memories, just as you find your way back into your date’s arms. 

A sudden pressure forms behind Sharky’s eyes and he has to tear his gaze away from you and your new person. No use torturing himself further. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’d forgotten to bring a jacket—a stupid decision given London’s unpredictable weather and how windy it was when you stepped out of your flat earlier that evening. Aj had warned you it was chilly before he came to pick you up and you should’ve known it was only bound to get colder. 

You shiver as soon as you step out of the restaurant, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and keep the chill at bay. 

“Here.” Aj shrugs off his jacket and lays it on your shoulders. The material is thick, heavy, and warm from his body heat. You suppress a contented sigh, refusing to give your boyfriend the satisfaction of being right. 

“I’m not that cold,” you protest, but you pull his jacket tight around you anyway. It smells like him of course, and you inhale, the urge to get drunk on his cologne too overwhelming to resist. 

“Not that cold, yeah?” Aj counters, rolling his eyes. “Your teeth are chattering so loud it’s making my ears hurt.” 

“Oh shut up,” you say, giving him a playful shove. 

Aj feigns being thrown a few feet away, tripping over his feet, and falling against the restaurant’s glass doors. Encouraged by your subsequent giggling, he adds on: “Chill, chill I need to be able to drive!” 

“That is literally something you’ve never had to say before, Aje.” 

Aj shakes his head, his blond-tipped curls bouncing. With a laugh, he pulls out his car keys and spins them on his pointer finger. “Crazy, innit? I’m up now.”

You roll your eyes, even as your lips turn up in a smile. “What’re you waiting for? Go get the car then.” 

Aj opens his mouth, ready to spit out another violation, but he must see how tightly you cling to his jacket and your lips quivering in the cold, because he doesn’t bother. Instead, he reaches out and squeezes your hand before disappearing into the car park. 

The absence of his warmth next to you is sudden. You huddle by the entrance of the restaurant, chasing any semblance of heat. The lighting outside is scarce, dimmed to match the ambience of the place; you find yourself hoping Aj hurries up, realizing that you’re all but alone in the dark. 

Just as you’ve convinced yourself there’s a shadow in your peripheral preparing to pounce, Aj pulls up to the curb. The car he drives is sleek, pitch black, and…not his. There are traces of Niko everywhere—the cat plushie hanging on the rearview mirror, the custom decals depicting him and his housemates on the rear window, the NDL emblem on the license plate. 

You walk over to the car door, giggling when you see Aj’s face photoshopped on the pizza sticker in the corner of the passenger window. 

Need to ask Niko to make me one of those, you muse.

“Wait, wait!” Aj calls out through his open window. It’s something you’re slowly getting used to—the idea of him getting out of the driver’s seat. Yet as you watch him step out, hand braced on the door for support, the wind ruffling his hair and tugging at his clothes as he stands up, you wonder if you’ll ever get used to the breathtaking sight at all. 

Aj jogs around the car, stopping by the passenger door and pulling it open for you.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he says with a grin. What little light the restaurant emits somehow catches the playful glimmer in his eyes and you have to look away from how handsome he looks in the glow. 

“You’re a jokeman is what you are,” you tease, without conviction. The sparkle in his eyes and his adoring smile bring a rush of warmth so strong it combats the frigid evening air. 

“It’s like that, yeah?” Aj counters, mischief in his voice. “Gimme that back then.” 

He leans over, grabbing his jacket from you as soon as you’ve sat down in the passenger seat. He pulls it on as he rounds the car and you’re staring at him again, watching the way the bomber jacket hugs his frame and complements his all-black fit. 

Aj has always been stylish. It’s one of the things that drew you to him before you started dating. These days though, you find yourself more and more unable to look away, the very image of him causing an unnamed feeling to rush through your chest. 

Aj slides into the driver’s seat next to you. He busies himself with pairing his phone to the car and putting your flat’s address into the GPS, seemingly oblivious to your intense staring. The way the corner of his mouth pulls up tells you otherwise; Aj is as aware of you as you are of him, as usual. 

“You gonna keep staring at me or you gonna put your seatbelt on so we can go?” Aj says as he finally looks up to meet your eyes. 

“My bad, I was just trying to figure out how a human being can look so much like a triangle,” you say, but do as he asks. 

“If I wasn’t driving, I swear..,” Aj grumbles as he maneuvers out of the car park.

“You’d what?” you reply, your tone teasing and light. 

It earns you a side-eye and a smirk from the Somali and you have to hold back a giggle at Aj’s feigned annoyance. 

“Might have to shut you up somehow,” he replies, his voice low. 

His tone sends shivers down your spine even as heat shoots through your body. You swallow hard, annoyed but not surprised by the effect Aj has on you. 

“Then it is too bad you’re driving right now,” you say, your voice dipping to match his tone. To distract yourself from the want that curls in your stomach and the warmth in your chest, you lean forward and fiddle with the car’s multimedia screen. 

“You better play something good,” Aj says. His eyes flit from the road to the playlist you’ve pulled up onscreen. “I’m not listening to your shit pop music for another hour.” 

“Eyes on the road, schmuck,” you shoot back. Pop music isn’t the vibe anyway, you decide as you pull up some R&B hits. 

Soon, Usher is crooning through the speakers, urging the DJ to get him and his partner to fall in love again. You bob your head and sway to the music, mouthing the lyrics. From the corner of your eye, you see Aj nodding to the beat despite previously insisting he’s “not into lovesick tunes.” You grin at the thought of him enjoying this as much as you are. 

“You better not be smiling like that because of Usher.” Aj turns his head to look at you, accusation in his eyes. 

You can’t help but laugh at how offended he sounds. With a shake of your head, you say, “You’re supposed to be looking at the road, Aje, not me.” 

“I’ll look at you whenever I want.” 

And there it is again: the pressure on your chest, behind your eyes, the evidence of some powerful emotion threatening to consume you. You swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“Not when you’re supposed to be driving! Honestly, how the hell did you pass your driver’s test?” 

“Because I’m an excellent driver,” Aj counters. “Besides, it’s a red light and you know what that means.” 

 You’ve unbuckled and leaned across the centre console before he finishes his sentence. Aj’s lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, made more intimate by the late hour and punctuated with the soft notes of a new romantic melody. His lips are warm, like the rest of him. You’re fighting (and losing to) the urge to breathe more of him in when the light turns green. 

“Who’s not following road rules now?” Aj nods to your undone seatbelt, then turns his attention back to the road. 

The snarky comeback dies on your lips as your eyes fall on your boyfriend again. 

Aj, next to you, a silhouette outlined in flashes of colour, the city blurring as he speeds up. His blond-tipped curls bouncing, the edge of his jaw tensing as he maneuvers onto the motorway that will take you out of Central London and into the outskirts you both call home. The way his jacket hugs his lean figure, and above that, the glint of his silver chains when the streetlamps hit them just right. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you finally name the feeling that’s been squeezing at your heart for some time. As Aj mumbles along to another R&B hit you love so much, oblivious to the epiphany you’re stumbling through, you allow yourself to think the words. 

I love you. 

Almost as if he knows what’s running through your head, Aj reaches for your hand. He glances over, a risky decision considering you’re travelling almost a hundred kilometres an hour.  

“I know, I know,” Aj jokes. “My singing is elite, innit? It actually shut you up for once.” 

The weight of your realization still hasn’t quite let up and it takes you a moment to process his words. 

“Actually, I’ve been holding my breath because yours is stinking up the car,” you tease, the corner of your mouth turning up in a smirk. I love him. 

“What the fuck?” Aj says in faux disbelief. “I’m literally serenading you and you violate me?” 

“Gotta keep you humble,” you say, but it’s I love you behind the words. 

You’re not quite ready to say it yet, so when Aj pouts at your teasing, all you do is laugh. You squeeze his hand. “I’m kidding, baby. You know I love it.” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I thought you were good at ball,” you say, rolling your eyes as Aj misses yet another shot. The countdown by the basketball net flashes, indicating there’s only a minute left of the game. 

“You know I am,” he retorts. “This is just rigged.” 

“You’ve said that about every game here, starboy.” 

The two of you had been at a local carnival for an hour now and Aj had dragged you from ring toss to balloon popping to skee ball like a five-year-old on a sugar rush, eager to win you a prize. After losing nearly every game, he swears up and down that every booth is impossible to win and they ‘all give Kenny vibes.’

You giggle at the thought of his fellow Beta Squad member catching yet another rigging allegation. 

“Whatchu laughing at?” Aj asks as he grabs another ball. “I don’t see you winning me any prizes either.” 

His whiny tone only makes you laugh harder. He’s an actual child, you think as you shake your head.  

Aj shoots you a sidelong glance. As he lines up his next shot, he says, “Maybe you’re not motivating me enough.” 

“Oh, it’s my fault, yeah?” You push him, knocking him off balance. The ball slips from his hand, but Aj is too quick. He catches it before it hits the ground and turns to you, clearly proud of his reflexes.  

“Nice try, schmuck,” Aj says. He grins, the smile you adore you so much lighting up his features. “Aight, if I make this shot, what do I get?” 

“If you think you deserve anything after calling me a schmuck, you’ve lost your whole mind, Aje.” 

“My bad, baby.” He reaches out to you, a hand coming up to rest low on your waist. 

You lean into Aj, savouring his closeness. His aversion to physical affection made moments like this even more special; you were one of the few people he allowed into his personal space and you tended to enjoy the privilege. 

“A kiss,” you whisper. This close to him, you smell his cologne and the scent is so intoxicating you want to chase it into his skin. “If you make the shot, you get a kiss from your lovely girlfriend.” 

Aj looks down at you and smiles. “I’ll take that, I’ll take that.” 

You step back as he prepares to make what’s arguably the most important shot of the day. Aj is fit, athletic in a way that’s surprising to everyone given his height and thin frame. It’s evident in the way he adjusts his stance, lining himself up perfectly in front of the basket. You know nothing about basketball and yet, you can’t help but admire your boyfriend’s form as he lets the ball fly. 

The ball swishes clean through the net. 

“C’mere,” Aj says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to him. 

He’s not that much taller than you, but for a moment, the distance between you two is insurmountable. Aj closes the gap, his curls brushing your forehead as his lips meet yours. His lips are soft, warm as always, and gone too soon. Thankfully not for long, as he kisses you again. Harder this time and the pressure makes your mouth fall open beneath his. You share a breath and Aj’s hold on your waist tightens. 

“Relax, Aje,” you manage to sigh, pulling away slightly. “There are kids around.” 

“So? We’re adults, we can do what we want.” 

“You’re not wrong.” This time, it’s you who loops your arms around his neck and pulls him down. You kiss him again, your lips falling open under him, his breath hot against you. The rush of warmth spurs you on and you pull your eager boyfriend flush against you, your chest pressed against his so firmly you can feel his necklaces digging into your skin.

If Aj is surprised by your sudden vigor, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he somehow pulls you even closer. The press of his lower body against yours makes it clear what your kisses are doing to him and it’s that that brings you out of the haze. 

You pull away, drunk from everything Aj. 

“Tease,” the Somali grumbles, but his grip on your waist loosens and the two of you manage to pry yourselves away from each other. 

“You’re famous enough to be recognized and I don’t want us drawing attention,” you reply. The words come out in short bursts and given Aj’s smirk, you’re not the only one that can hear how breathless your brief makeout session has made you. 

“You already have all my attention,” Aj replies. His eyes are trained on yours and in the dark brown of his irises, you can see the honesty and affection written clear as day. 

Your cheeks warm at his sweetness and you can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up in a small smile. 

“Smooth, innit?” Aj continues, his gaze locked on you as you try to fight back the smile he adores so much. The smile he gave you.

“Yes, of course,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “You know how to speak to gyaldem and all that.”

“Nah, just you.” 

You can’t hold back your grin this time. “Flirt,” you say, and you resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. “What game do you wanna play next?” 

“You know what, fuck these rigatoni ass games,” Aj says. “You’re already my biggest W anyway. Let’s grab some food instead, yeah? I think I saw a good burger place over there.” 

Aj laces your hands together and as he leads you through the carnival, blond curls bouncing, his hand squeezing yours every so often, you reaffirm the one thought that’s been circling your mind the whole night.