Gemini Lounge breathes like a beast. The bass shakes the floor, vibrating up through my boots, into my chest, rattling my bones. Lights flash in deep purples and hot golds, cutting across the crowd like slashes of heat. The air’s thick with sweat, smoke, spilled tequila, and the charge of bodies too close, too alive.

The DJ bounces in the centre of a glass booth that sits in the middle of the dance floor. He’s bare-chested beneath a fur vest, lost in the music he’s spinning—this pulsing, filthy house track that makes it impossible not to move.

I don’t even try to resist.

Gracie’s next to me—on me, really—moving in rhythm like she owns the floor, the room, the city. She’s in ripped black jeans and a sheer mesh top over a strappy bralette that hugs every inch of her. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, loose curls clinging to her sweaty face like she was made to glow and tempt. I can’t look away.

My corset top bites into my ribs in the best way, and my leather shorts ride high on my hips. I wore this outfit for fun, for power—but now I feel like I wore it for her. Every sway of my hips is calculated now, every brush of our skin ignites a spark within. She laughs as we sway to the beat of Doja Cat’s ‘Lose my mind’, throwing her head back with lips parted. She’s a sight and I forget how to breathe.

God, I’ve known her forever, and still, she knocks the breath from me like she’s brand new.

We dance closer, the space between us shrinking to nothing. Her fingers ghost my waist. Mine curl at the back of her neck. We’re moving like we’ve done this a hundred times but never like this. Never with this heat building low and steady in my stomach. Never with this urge to touch her—not just as a friend, but as something else.

Something more.

I catch her eyes and the world around us blurs. Her gaze is heavy on my mouth, and I swear to God, if she leans in, I’m gone.

Then a hand slices into the space between us.

Some guy, tall and drunk and grinning like he owns the world, pushes between us like we’re not even here. He says something in Gracie’s ear, reaching for her waist. She stiffens instantly and the visual raises my hackles. Her smile turns sharp as she steps away. “I’m not interested,” she tells him, loud enough to create a boundary.

But it’s a boundary the guy doesn’t accept. He probably doesn’t even know what one of those is because he presses forward again, reaching for her again, and that’s when something inside me snaps.

I move before I think—my hand curls around Gracie’s waist, yanking her back against me. My arm wraps tight across her stomach, staking a silent claim. She fits against me like she belongs there.

And the guy? 

He doesn’t look deterred in the slightest. If anything, it spurs him on. He edges closer, this time snaking a hand around the back of my neck.

And then I see red.

My fist comes out of nowhere. I shove Gracie to the side at the same time I swing for the guy who so brazenly thought he could put his hands on me.

Flesh connects with flesh, snapping the guys head sideways. It’s hard enough to hurt—judging from the pain in my knuckles—but not enough to make him bleed, unfortunately.

Gripping his jaw, he scowls at me, but thankfully he has the good sense to step away. He mutters something under his breath, something I don’t hear past the pulsing music and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

My vision tunnels. My chest feels tight, but it’s the palms of someone familiar gripping my face that pulls me out the impending spiral. Warm hands cup my cheeks. Blue eyes pierce my own.

Gracie.

“You okay?” she asks, pressing her forehead to mine. Her chest rises and falls fast against mine. Her breath fans across my lips. We’re so close, I can feel the heat coming off her skin, the way her heartbeat echoes mine.

I nod, but my eyes are locked on hers—on her mouth—and she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t even blink.

The music thumps around us, but all I hear is the ragged pull of her breathing and the screaming silence between us. My hand’s find her waist. I could let go. I should.

I don’t.

Instead, I tilt my head, brushing my lips against hers. It’s gentle at first, barely a kiss but I feel my heart stutter from the contact.

And then she kisses me back. 

It’s not a question. It’s not a whisper. It’s a fire.

Her lips crash onto mine, soft but hungry, like she’s been holding this in for years. I gasp into her mouth, grip tightening as I kiss her back—deep, desperate, reckless. Her hands fist in the sides of my corset, pulling me closer like we can erase every inch of space that’s ever existed between us.

Her mouth tastes like tequila and temptation and something so familiar it aches. I kiss her like I’ve been waiting to, like the only thing that’s ever made sense is her.

And I know—I know—I’m not just imagining this.

Because she kisses me like she means it, too.

But just as I start to fall into her—just as I start to believe this could be real—she pulls away. It’s not a slow retreat. It’s sharp, sudden. Like she’s been burned and I’m the one who held the flame to her skin.

Her hands drop from my waist like I’ve scorched her. She steps back into the pulsing light, breathing hard, eyes wide. Her mouth is still puffy from the kiss, parted like she might say something, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she rubs a hand over the back of her neck, and looks around us.

My heart’s still galloping in my chest while my lips tingle. My body’s leaning forward, desperate to chase her, to pull her back and ask what the hell just happened, but I freeze at the look in her eyes.

It's not regret, exactly. I don’t think. It's fear and something else. Shame?

My stomach knots. I don’t like this. I don’t like the expression contorting her beautiful features, or the way she throws up an invisible wall.

“Gracie,” I say, voice low, just for her. “Hey. It’s okay—”

“We should go,” she cuts in, her voice flat. It doesn’t match her flushed skin or the wild thrum of her pulse I could feel moments ago against my chest. She’s shutting down, closing a door that was barely open to begin with.

My brows furrow. “What? Wait, Gracie—”

She turns away, already moving through the crowd, shoving past dancers like she needs air. Like she’s running from something. Me.

No. Not me.

From us.

From this.

I trail after her, my heart pounding. I dodge elbows and spilled drinks, winding through the grinding sweaty bodies that refuse to budge until I catch up just outside the bathroom hallway. She’s leaning against the wall, head tipped back, fingers pressed to her lips. 

“I didn’t mean to…” I start, but the words feel wrong. I did mean to. And she kissed me back.

She won’t look at me. She just exhales, jaw tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Thea. I just—I can’t… this isn’t…” She shakes her head. Her eyes finally flick to mine and they’re too green, too guarded, like she’s trying to shove every emotion back behind a wall she built years ago. “I’m not—” she begins, then stops.

“Not what?” I step forward but she holds a hand out between us.

“I’m not out, okay?” she snaps, voice low and raw. “I don’t—do this. I don’t do us.” Her throat bobs on a swallow, and her arms fold around herself like armor. “It was a mistake.”

The word punches through my ribs.

Mistake.

“Gracie…” I whisper, stepping closer until her hand is pressed to my chest. “That didn’t feel like a mistake.”

She doesn’t answer. And that silence says more than anything else.

So I nod and swallow the sting, trying to gather the shredded pieces of my heart and smile like it doesn’t hurt.

“Okay,” I lie.

“Let’s just… not talk about it, alright?” she mutters. “Let’s go home.”

Home. Where the lines are safe. Where I’m just her best friend and not the girl she kissed like I was oxygen.

I want to scream. I want to grab her face and tell her that what happened on that dance floor wasn’t a mistake. Instead, I follow her out of the club, into the heavy night air, pretending my chest isn’t caving in with every step we take towards our apartments.

Because maybe to her, it was just a moment.

But to me, it was everything.