There were three things Fushimi Saruhiko hated with a burning passion—people, dancing, and loud music.
So why he had allowed Doumyouji, Akiyama and Hidaka to drag his ass to a club this particular Thursday night was beyond him.
‘Allowed’ was perhaps a loose term, as he remembered them grabbing his arms and shoving him into a cab.
Was it okay to sue, or call the cops saying he had been kidnapped?
It was probably too late for that since they were already in the club, might as well suck it up and leave in a few hours when they were done.
At the very least, he could buy a drink and try to drown out the cacophony of heavy bass beats thundering in his chest.
Fushimi wrinkled his nose. The club was disgusting, to put it lightly. The black lights illuminated all the wrong things in all the wrong places, and not just shirts and teeth.
It was hot and sticky, unknown substances were probably trapped in the thick air, and already Fushimi could feel the grime clinging to his skin.
An ocean of people moved together, like waves, bodies swaying with the beat, clinging to their superficial, drunken connections.
The music blared loudly in his ear—so loud, he couldn’t hear a thing Doumyouji seemed to be saying to him. While his three co-workers looked thrilled to be there, Fushimi sighed.
He pushed through the crowd, bumping into people grinding, making out and doing…various other activities he felt should’ve been saved for a bedroom.
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