Night out

Night out
Today has been a very bad day for Rome. He was in a bad mood a d it even seemed to eirsen by each passing seconds.

Zayn was drunk.

Properly drunk. The kind where his eyes went glassy and his words started slurring into each other like they were afraid to be alone. He hadn’t even drunk that much at dinner, had he?

Rome leaned against the bedroom doorway, arms crossed. Zayn had kicked off his shoes in opposite directions, one by the couch, the other lying sideways under the bed.

His blazer was half on, half off, caught on his elbow like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to stay or flee.

He was talking to himself now. Or maybe to Rome. It was hard to tell.

"The moon… Rome, did you know.. no, listen, you have to listen… the moon hates me. It's... judgmental."

Rome blinked. "The moon."

Zayn nodded solemnly and stumbled toward the bed like gravity was a new concept.

This wasn’t normal. Zayn never did this, ever acted this... unguarded. Even when they were younger, even when he'd had too much to drink, Zayn had stayed composed and quiet.

He was the type of drunk who sat straighter, who smiled quieter, who held your gaze like he could read your pulse.

Except for the rare nights. The ones Rome never talked about.

Zayn dropped onto the bed like a puppet whose strings had snapped. One arm flung over his face. "Everything is spinning. And your hair smells like home. That’s weird. That’s… weird."

Rome stared.

He hated this. This feeling creeping in. That softness.

Zayn had been cruel to him. For years, in tiny, sharp ways that cut deeper than Rome wanted to admit. He’d shown up, left marks, and vanished.

And Rome had let him. Because sometimes Zayn would come undone in moments like this, and it would feel like love. Like the kind of thing Rome had never been given freely.

But love doesn’t leave you ruined. Doesn’t make you afraid to breathe near someone in case they notice how much you care.

"You were an asshole to me," Rome said quietly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I can't believe I'm going this soft on you.”

Zayn murmured something about pigeons. Or peaches.

Rome sat down at the edge of the bed, but not too close. "You made me feel like I didn’t matter. And every time you disappeared, I told myself it was fine. That I didn’t need you to choose me."

Zayn made a noise. It might’ve been his name.

Rome shook his head. "You almost ruined me. I think you liked that. Knowing you could."

There was no reply. Just soft breathing and the twitch of a hand curling near Zayn’s face.

Rome stood. Covered him with the duvet. Because it was cold. Because he was still human. Because he was still stupid sometimes.

He left the room.

The living room was dim. Rome collapsed onto the couch and let the silence wrap around him like a second skin.

His phone lit up showing that the caller was Sade.

He answered on instinct.

"If you tell me you’ve fallen in love again, I will launch myself into the sun," Sade said.

A short laugh escaped him. It surprised them both.

"No," he said. "I’m just losing my mind."

"Ah, so the usual."

Rome exhaled, sinking further into the cushions. Sade’s voice was a grounding thing, warm, teasing, real. She’d seen the worst of his heartbreak and never for once blamed him.

"He’s drunk," Rome said. "Acting like a toddler on wine. He called my toes majestic."

There was a beat. Then Sade burst out laughing. "Honestly, that's the nicest thing he's ever said to you."

Rome closed his eyes. Let himself smile.

"I moved," she said suddenly. "To the city. Surprise."

His eyes snapped open. "Wait, what?"

"Yep. Was gonna show up tomorrow and scare the life out of you, but now seems like a better time."

He didn’t respond.

"Come out," she said. "I’ll even let you pick the club."

Rome hesitated. He glanced toward the hallway. The door was still closed. Zayn was asleep. Probably drooling.

"You don’t owe him anything, Ro. Not your night. Not your silence."

That did it.

"Pick me up in fifteen," he said.

"Done. Wear black. I’m feeling dramatic."

The call ended.

Rome sat for a moment longer. Then stood, walked to the mirror, and changed his shirt. He brushed his hair with steady hands.

He looked at himself—really looked. And for a moment, he didn’t recognize the face staring back.

Then he turned away.

Zayn mumbled his name in his sleep.

Rome didn’t look back.

...

The bar throbbed with neon lights and loud bass, the kind that could rattle your ribs if you stood too close to a speaker. Rome stepped inside with his shoulders stiff, his coat still draped over one arm, phone glowing faintly in his hand. This place wasn’t new to him, but he hadn’t exactly planned on returning.

It was one of those bars where famous faces blurred with expensive liquor. The kind of place where everything glittered too much and the lies wore designer smiles. Rome had been here before.

Not long ago, in fact. He’d come with someone, someone whose name still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

An actor, a very big one.

A man who took a bold stance against homophobia in public and then spent his nights chasing boys in shadows.

Rome had never forgotten the irony, nor the night it ended. The actor had wanted more. Something real, he’d said. But Rome had seen the cracks, how a man could fight one thing in daylight and still feed it in the dark.

That night ended with insults and a slammed car door.

Rome sighed and shook his head, trying to push the memory away. The last thing he needed was to attract any familiar ghosts.

He lowered his gaze, his thumb hovering over the message he’d typed for Sade. Here. Where are you? But before he hit send, a voice rose over the crowd, loud, bright, distinctly cheerful.

“Rome!”

He turned, scanning the crowd, and then there she was.

Sade stood in the middle of the dance floor like a neon flame. Her braids swung as she danced, hips moving in sync with the heavy rhythm.

Her face was lit with laughter, and her eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief. Rome felt the tension in his chest dissolve, as if someone had unlatched a tight grip around his lungs.

That was Sade for you. That warmth, so loud, so unbothered, so hers. She had a way of dragging you out of your own head and into the moment.

Rome walked toward her, slipping through the bodies with ease. When they met, she pulled him into a loose hug, still bouncing to the beat.

“You came!” she shouted over the music.

“Didn’t think I’d find you mid-seduction,” he teased, grinning.

Sade laughed, head thrown back. “Please. The guy I came with already vanished with some chick. He wasn't even that cute. I'm better off dancing with strangers.”

They found a quieter spot near the bar, still loud but manageable. Sade leaned in, eyes bright. “So how’s married life, Mrs. Sanchez?”

Rome snorted into his drink. “Don’t even start.”

They slipped into easy conversation, joking and catching up like old times. It felt good—too good. The kind of good that made you forget just how bad things had been hours ago.

But then, he felt someone tap on the shoulder.

Rome froze.

The kind of touch that didn’t feel accidental. There was something cold about it. He turned slowly, already knowing who it might be.

And he was right.

Deep-set eyes. That familiar, watchful stillness. The kind of face that stayed with you long after you walked away from it.

It wasn't even Zayn.

But Rome’s stomach still twisted, all the same.

He didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. He hadn’t liked it then. And he sure as hell didn’t like it now.