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Lawrence didn’t want to come here. Every other time Darren and Callum have tried to get him to come clubbing, he found some excuse to turn them down even as they called him a killjoy, because he knew he would hate it. But he heard that Bonnie is here tonight, and he’ll put up with a miserable time if it’ll give him an excuse to finally talk to the girl he’s fallen for.
And now he’s here… and it feels like his head is about to explode. He feels the bass in the music vibrating through his body. He hears the booming music and snatches of conversations shouted across the dance floor. He smells the revolting mix of sweat and booze and everyone’s colognes and perfumes and deodorants, all mingling together in the humid air and burning his nose, able to taste them on his tongue too. And all he can see is a whirl of colours from the strobing lights and the ridiculous amount of neon clothing worn by drunken partygoers, tangling together enough to make him nauseous. It feels like every sense has freaked out all at once, something Lawrence hasn’t experienced in years. He thought he was over this, over acting like a stupid little freak.
Nobody else seems affected, just dancing and shouting and snogging and stumbling around drunkenly, having the time of their lives. How do none of them find this torturous? Oh, that’s right. They are fine because they’re normal. Not a weirdo like Lawrence who was stupid enough to think getting older and going off to uni would cure him of all the babyish behaviour he got bullied for back home.
His breaths come as shallow, jagged gasps. His body goes rigid, shoulders hunched up by his ears as his fingers dig into his palms, face creasing into a grimace of discomfort. He longs to cover his ears and close his eyes, but that would be weird. And he’s sick of being weird. He actually has friends now, and he can’t lose them.
“You okay, Larry?” Darren shouts over the cacophony, but Lawrence barely hears him. “You look awful, mate. C’mon, let’s get a drink in you. I bet that’ll help you mellow out.”
And as Darren touches his shoulder, something he’s done so many times, Lawrence yelps, stumbling back so fast he almost falls. He doesn’t mean to freak out, but… but Darren’s grip hurt like his hand was covered in needles, stabbing Lawrence as he touched him. It hurt so much. It still hurts.
“Larry?”
He must get out of here. He can’t do this. Why did he ever think he could do this?
Limbs refusing to move properly, Lawrence staggers back over to the front door, pushing past people and wincing whenever they touch him, his skin burning. People yell at him, but their words blur together. It feels like he’s drunk, but Lawrence is very much sober. Ignoring whatever the bouncer says to him, Lawrence rushes out the way they came in, spilling out into the cool, dark, quiet night.
He rushes down the road, ducking into the first alleyway he finds (a painfully stupid idea, but it’s hard to think straight when he gets like this). And Lawrence leans back against the wall, takes his head in both hands, and screws his eyes up, glad he managed to get somewhere with relative privacy before this happened. His left leg bounces furiously, and his teeth find a dry patch on his bottom lip, beginning to nibble on it until skin tears. Part of him wants to cry (like he always did when this happened in his childhood; he used to curl up in a ball under his bed and sob), but Lawrence will not let that happen. He refuses to humiliate himself any further. He’ll just let himself fidget until he calms down, and then he’ll go back to halls and apologise to his friends tomorrow.
“Hello? Are you alright?”
Lawrence jumps as someone speaks, their voice seeming far too loud to his stupid ears. Even worse, he recognises that voice…
He opens his eyes, and finds himself staring at the woman who he has tried to pluck up the courage to speak to for weeks. Of everyone on the planet, why did it have to be Bonnie who found him?
“Did something happen?” she asks, and Lawrence forces eye contact even though it always feels like such pressure in his head, as though pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets hard enough to hurt. And, to his utter shock, she stares back at him not with mockery, ready to call him names and laugh at him. No, she looks… concerned. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to call the police?”
Well, he’s certainly in pain, but he doubts this sort of pain is what she worries about. Bonnie is probably more concerned about someone spiking his drink and trying to assault or rob him—all the typical clubbing horror stories. Although he thought that only happens to women. Whatever the case, she’s clearly concerned that something bad happened to him in the club, and if he didn’t feel so awful, Lawrence would smile at Bonnie being so kind to a man she has never spoken to (and let’s be realistic, she probably doesn’t even know you exist, he thinks. After all, just going to the same university does not mean she recognises him, let alone knows his name).
“I’m… I’m fine,” Lawrence mumbles, struggling to get his words out. He hates how wobbly his voice sounds. As first impressions go, this is a fucking disaster.
“Are you sure?” Bonnie asks. “You’re not looking great. N-No offense,” she adds, her cheeks flushing a little. The sight is utterly adorable.
Lawrence manages to chuckle. “It’s… it’s nothing serious.”
Clearly not believing him, Bonnie says, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He wants her to go away; Lawrence hates it when people see him like this. And he can’t think of much worse than Bonnie seeing him in such a state. But at the same time, Lawrence doesn’t want her to leave. He never dreamed of managing to hold a conversation with Bonnie, and yet here they are. Yes, it’s not an ideal situation, but that doesn’t change the fact Bonnie is here and talking to him, and kind enough to get worried about a complete stranger.
“I… I don’t think so,” he mumbles. Now he’s out of that overwhelming environment, Lawrence already feels significantly less terrible. And it shouldn’t take him too long to get back to normal. Although he would ideally spend that time resting in bed rather than standing awkwardly in an alleyway and trying not to look too pathetic in front of the prettiest woman in his year at university. “But… thank you. You… you can go back t-to whatever you were… were doing. I’ll be… fine.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really feel comfortable leaving you alone,” Bonnie says. “Sorry, that sounds weird. I just… I’m worried about you. Did you come here with anyone?”
Torn between whether he should feel patronised or honoured that she’s so concerned about him, Lawrence struggles to think of a response. And then, luckily or not, a familiar voice breaks the awkward silence.
“Larry?!” Darren yells somewhere in the distance.
“Lawrence!” Callum shouts. Brilliant, now both of them are aware he freaked out.
The sudden voices startle Bonnie and she turns her head, looking out for whoever spoke.
Lawrence sighs. “That… that’s my friends. Must be looking for me.”
“Then you must be Lawrence,” she says, smiling. “I’m Bonnie.”
I know, he almost says, but that might make him sound pathetic or like a creep, so instead he manages to say, “H-Hello…”
With all his usual grace, Darren chooses that moment to skid around the corner and stare at them, before calling over his shoulder, “Cal, I’ve found him!”
A few seconds later, Callum appears, equally breathless. His eyes widen when he notices Bonnie standing near Lawrence. “Oh, there you are. You had us worried, Lawrence.”
“Oh, hi, there,” Darren says, looking between Lawrence and Bonnie. He smirks at Lawrence as he adds, “And who do we have here?” As though he doesn’t know exactly who Bonnie is.
“Bonnie,” Lawrence mumbles, not in the mood for Darren’s antics. “She…”
“She’s been looking after you?” Callum suggests. And when Lawrence flushes at the thought of Bonnie taking care of him, Callum grins. It seems the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
“I just wanted to check if he was okay,” Bonnie says. “I’m glad you two are here. I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Callum says, winking at her.
“Do you wanna go back to halls, Larry?” Darren asks.
“You… you don’t have to m-miss out ‘cause of me,” Lawrence says, hating to be a burden on the much cooler boys who somehow like hanging out with him.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Darren says. “I’ll just drop you off and come back.”
Lawrence smiles weakly, glad Darren remembered that he prefers to be left alone when he gets wiped out.
“Hey, can I borrow your hand a mo?” Bonnie says, reaching into her small handbag and revealing a battered old biro, the end covered in toothmarks (so it seems Lawrence isn’t alone in chewing the hell out of his pens when stressed).
“How come?” Lawrence asks, his mind still not working properly (if it ever works properly).
“C’mon, mate, she’s gonna give you her phone number,” Darren says, grinning in that infuriating way that usually leads to Callum shoving him. Except this time, Callum just grins too.
Lawrence gulps. “O-Oh… oh, I see.”
Without thinking about it, he clenches a weak fist and holds his hand out to Bonnie. It feels repulsive as the biro drags against his skin, but Lawrence grits his jaw and endures it, letting Bonnie scribble her dorm’s phone number on the back of his hand.
“Give me a call tomorrow morning, just to let me know you made it home safe,” she says, sliding the pen back into her handbag. “It would really put my mind at ease.”
And she smiles, a beautiful smile that would light up a room, a smile he never thought she would direct towards him, and gives him a small wave before walking away.
“I… I will,” Lawrence calls after her.
When he looks back at his friends, he finds them both grinning.
“What?” he says.
“You just got the number of the girl you fancy,” Callum says.
“I know that,” Lawrence says, struggling to process that that just happened. “So why… why are you looking at me like that?”
Callum rolls his eyes. “Because we’re happy for you, stupid.”
“Bonnie and Lawrence, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Darren sings and Callum makes ridiculous kissy faces at him.
“You two are in-infuriating,” Lawrence says, frustrated to still stumble over his words even though he’s almost back to normal.
“But you love us,” Darren says, still in that ridiculous sing-song tone. He darts closer, about to put his arm around Lawrence (and probably ruffle his hair despite Lawrence’s repeated comments in the past about how much it annoys him), but stops himself just in time. “Shit, sorry. You’re not… doing good with touching, are you?”
So, Darren remembers him freaking out when Darren touched his shoulder. But he’s… not being an arsehole about it. Lawrence still can’t quite believe how nice everyone has been about his embarrassing behaviour.
“I’m fine,” Lawrence lies.
“Of course you are,” Callum says, raising an eyebrow. “Anyway… Lawrence, if clubbing makes you feel like shit, why didn’t you just tell us?”
Lawrence sighs, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. “Because I… it’s embarrassing.”
“Look, don’t go integrating him, Callum,” Darren says. “He’s not feeling great.”
“It’s ‘interrogate’, Darren,” Callum says, and Darren flushes pink, never happy when someone points out his habit of mixing up words.
“Sh-Shut it,” he mutters.
“Anyway,” Lawrence says, not in the mood for them to start arguing. “I’m going home. Y-You don’t really have to walk me back, Darren.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” Darren says, scowling at Callum. “It beats watching Callum get attention from all the girls. He’s not even into women!”
Callum smirks. “Hey, now, there’s no need to be jealous.”
“Please shut up,” Lawrence says, rubbing his eyes. “I’m tired…” Getting overwhelmed like this just saps all his energy.
“Sorry, Larry,” Darren says. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
It feels a lot like Lawrence had too much to drink and now Darren is escorting him home. But he’s painfully sober.
Still, at least his friends don’t think he’s a loser for freaking out like that. They’re good people. Maybe they’ll become his best friends, people he wants to spend time with for years. Back home, Lawrence never could have dreamed of having best friends.
“Hope you feel better soon, Lawrence,” Callum says as Lawrence begins to walk back out of the alleyway with Darren at his side.
Lawrence smiles weakly, so grateful that they care about him even when he did something as embarrassing as freaking out mere moments after stepping into a nightclub. And with Darren talking his ear off the entire time (but noticeably trying to keep his voice down), Lawrence heads back to his room at halls, still reeling with the knowledge that Bonnie gave him her number.