It all started when I went to that club. My friends had convinced me it would be fun, and, though they really hinted at this, I would meet someone up to my tastes.

They were right on both parts, unfortunately.

And now I’m tied up tightly and uncomfortably to a stiff, metal chair. Gagged, blindfolded, and scared. So utterly scared.

Then I hear a sigh. Soft fingertips brush lovingly, almost adoringly, against the side of my cheek, stopping at the thick cloth of my gag.

“How beautiful you are, darling, so pretty even in distress.” I start to shake, and he notices. “No no, don’t be scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

What a lie. There is everything to be afraid of.

Mostly my life.

***

**_Before

_**I stare at the slim, skin fitting leggings being held in front of me. “That looks like something you would wear, why’d you say it was for me. I was actually excited.”

Timothy sighs and he puts the leggings down. He’s standing in front of me while I sit on my bed, going through the bag of clothes he brought for me to try on. Today is what he, and other of my friends, call “Club Night”, a Friday night where they get hungover with random strangers. That isn’t usually my style; video games and cuddling with my calico, Bean, is my normal Friday.

I sigh, not even remembering how Timothy got his way this time. His charm and puppy dog eyes are enough to make a grumpy old man bend over to his whim.

“Now,” he says, digging into his bag after discarding the leggings to the “no” pile on his right. Timothy takes out a crop top, “How about—“

“I’m not as gay as you,” I mutter. Timothy frowns and I choose my words better this time. “What I meant was: I’m not as…open as you.”

He blinks, stretching a nail at his glossed lips after tossing the crop top into the pile with the others.

“Well, you are _not_ wearing that hoodie,” Timothy huffs, “It’s old, dusty—“

“I just washed it!” I interrupt.

“—and ugly,” he continues as if I didn’t so much as utter a word, “You won’t get any men with that disgusting thing on, Finn!” He cries.

I stiffen, face going in a set expression. “So,” I shrug, “I guess I won’t then.” At that moment, Beans decides that now is finally a good time to enter. She doesn’t like Timothy, he gets quite offended by that, so she avoids him and hops straight onto the bed and stalks into my lap before curling into a soft mass of warm, purring fur.

Yep, if this is the lonely road of relationships, I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Timothy, while I was distracted, has put all the clothes back in his bag and is staring at me intently.

“What?” I ask nervously. He has that look in his eyes, that processing look.

He puts his hands up in surrender and sighs. “Alright, wear that abomination if you want to, but do me this one favor.”

I stroke Beans on the front of her head, her ear flicking. “What?” I ask, voice flat.

My friend smiles, pearly white teeth gleaming in the dim light of my ceiling fan. “Don’t wear those basketball shorts of yours. I have something else for you.”

“What something else?”

He ignores my question and stands to leave my room. “Now hurry up, I’ll be in the car.”

I’m quiet after he leaves, petting Beans who’s looking up at me now. I fiddle with my sleeve with my other hand, mouth twisting in thought.

“You don’t think this jacket is ugly, do you, Beans?”

Beans blinks, then yawns, showing her long, sharp canines, before her jaw snaps shut and she licks her paw.

I smile, content in my pet’s silent answer. “That’s what I thought.”

——

The club is loud when we go in. Crazy, colorful, and loud.

Bodies are sweating as they party hard. The base is pumping, pounding as it drives the people forward. My friends have already started moving to the beat as they go to the bar. I’m left following them awkwardly, tugging at the hold the jeggings have on my muscled thighs, thankful for the cover my jacket has to my rear and frontal areas.

Better than leggings, I suppose.

It only takes a couple minutes for my crew to become intoxicated. Timothy slid me a shot and I’m a bit woozy. Not wasted as a few of my friends already are. Some men start looking at their bodies, but flick their gazes away when they see Timothy and me.

Speaking of my friend, he’s staring intently at some guy in a crimson colored button up with some black pants drinking a glass of what looks to be beer. He’s pale too, good looking with a sharp jawline, and has frighteningly blue eyes. Too blue and even more so with his pale, almost white, blond hair. He gives me goosebumps just looking at him.

Timothy, on the other hand, is gazing in him, eyes almost closed and…is that drool?

“Hmm, he looks a bit familiar,” Timothy mumbles into the hand that’s keeping him upright, “Where have I’ve seen him before?” He turns to me, a bit to quickly because he slumps over before righting himself again. He blinks slowly, then pokes my cheek. “You know who he is, Finny?”

I peek over Timothy to glance at the mysterious man and flinch back.

He’s staring right at me, amusement and something else, something _hot_ in those cool, frosty blue eyes.

I look away and look at Timothy once more, heart racing, face almost the same temperature as the invisible lines that the man’s eyes make on my face and body. Timothy’s eyes and are fully closed now, mouth open in a silent snore. He’s slumped against the bar counter, and is knocked out.

He’s the last one, besides me, who has succumbed to sleep. With that, I realize I’m alone, and that I have no one to help me against the alluring man walking towards me with a stride decorated in arrogance.

His blue eyes lock with my own brown ones, and the airflow in my lungs stops. My body starts to shake.

Those blue eyes look dangerous, so why is my body growing more and more hot as he approaches closer and closer. For once, I’m glad I wore something attractive; that must be it right?

He stops on my right, looking over at sleeping Timothy curiously. He scoots him over a bit, the chair making a sound hardly audible in the background of the music, and leans against the counter there. His attention is fully on me again, and I feel like a melted mass of butter.

“H-hello,” I stuttered. _Shit, why’d I even speak?_

He smiles. “What a pretty voice,” Is his only response as he continues to observe me picking at my sleeves.

I blink, then realize that Timothy was right, he is familiar. “Um, do I know you from somewhere?”

He tilts his head, smile growing wider. “You should. Does the name Vale Forward ring a bell?”

I still. His words, the name he spoke, the name on the front of concert tickets, the name on many, many popular albums.

“You’re _Vale Forward_?”