# Gala Night – Partings and Shadows
The gala was winding into its final hours—around 10 PM now, the crowd thinning slightly as early birds slipped out with auction wins tucked under arms, cheeks flushed from one too many cocktails. The string quartet had shifted to softer jazz, the lights dimmed to a golden haze that made everyone look a little more glamorous, a little more dangerous. Silent-auction bids were closing; the bar was still bustling, but the energy had turned intimate—whispers in corners, hands lingering on arms during goodbyes.
Charlie stood beside Nick near the edge of the dance floor, where a few couples swayed lazily. His phone buzzed again—Priya’s follow-up text with manuscript details. The knot in his chest tightened. He’d been dreading this, but the publishing house was small; emergencies like this could make or break his internship. Saying no felt like risking everything he’d built.
“Nick,” Charlie said softly, tugging him aside to a quieter spot near the tall windows overlooking the street. Rain had started pattering against the glass, blurring the city lights. “That call earlier… I have to go in tomorrow. Early. Like, 7 AM early. Priya needs me for this rewrite—it’s a mess, and I’m the only one who knows the book inside out.”
Nick’s brow furrowed, his hand finding Charlie’s waist automatically—warm, steady. “Tomorrow? Can’t it wait till Monday?”
Charlie shook his head, curls brushing his forehead. “Printer deadline. If we miss it, the whole release schedule tanks. I… I should probably head home now, get some sleep. Prep a bit.”
Nick’s eyes searched his—concern mixed with reluctance. The gala wasn’t over; as head coach, he had to stay for the closing remarks, the final donor schmoozing, the team photos with winners. “You sure? I can call an Uber with you, sneak out early—”
“No.” Charlie placed a hand on Nick’s chest, feeling the steady thump under the tux shirt. “You’re the star here. Stay, do your thing. Just… promise you’ll be back before 12? I don’t want to fall asleep without you.”
Nick’s expression softened, that protective warmth flooding in. He pulled Charlie closer, foreheads touching in the dim light. “Before 12. Promise. I’ll wrap up fast—closing’s at 11:30 anyway. Then straight home to you.” His voice dropped lower, lips brushing Charlie’s ear. “And when I get there? I’ll make up for tonight.”
Charlie shivered, heat blooming despite the worry. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Nick kissed him then—slow, deep, right there in the hall. Not caring about glances. Tongue flicking teasingly, hand sliding to the small of Charlie’s back, pressing their bodies flush. Charlie melted into it, hands fisting Nick’s lapels, the world narrowing to Nick’s taste, his scent—clean cologne over warm skin.
They broke apart breathless. Charlie’s cheeks flushed. “Okay. Text me when you’re leaving?”
“Every step,” Nick murmured, thumb tracing Charlie’s jaw. “Love you.”
“Love you.” Charlie squeezed his hand one last time, then turned—grabbing his coat from the check, calling an Uber on his phone. As he waited by the door, he glanced back: Nick watching him go, that soft, stupid smile on his face. But in the background—Daniel, circulating near the bar, eyes flicking their way for a split second before returning to a sponsor.
Charlie’s stomach twisted. \*It’s fine. Nick promised.\* The Uber arrived; he slid in, rain streaking the windows as the hall faded behind him.
\----
The main hall still glowed with golden uplighting, but the crowd had thinned to clusters of lingering donors, a few couples slow-dancing under the disco ball’s lazy spin, and staff quietly clearing plates. It was 11:12 PM. Nick had just finished his final donor photo op and was heading to the restroom to splash water on his face—anything to shake the low buzz of whiskey and adrenaline before he headed home to Charlie as promised. Before 12. He’d already texted Charlie: \*Wrapping up. Home in 30. Miss you already.\*
Daniel had been tracking Nick’s movements all night like a predator playing patient. The event was a triumph—£62,000 raised so far, sponsors glowing, speeches applauded—but Daniel’s real victory was still unfolding. He’d chosen his pawn carefully: not a guest, not a VIP, but one of the waitstaff. Shawn—mid-20s, sandy blond hair tied back in a short ponytail, lean runner’s build under the black vest and trousers, easy smile that turned flirtatious when Daniel had complimented his tray balance earlier. Daniel had spent the evening dropping breadcrumbs: lingering eye contact during drink refills, a quiet “you’re killing it tonight” when Shawn passed with champagne flutes, a deliberate brush of fingers that made Shawn’s ears go pink.
Now, with the night winding down and most guests distracted, Daniel made his move.
He caught Shawn in the service corridor near the restrooms—empty tray in hand, heading back to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Daniel said, voice pitched low and unsteady, leaning against the wall as if the world was tilting. “Shawn, right? Can you… help me for a sec? Feeling really off.”
Shawn paused, concern flickering. “You alright, man? You look wrecked.”
Daniel rubbed his temple, swaying visibly—knees buckling just enough to sell it. “Too much adrenaline, not enough food. Dizzy as hell. Just… need to sit somewhere quiet for a minute. Bathroom’s right there. Can you get me inside? Don’t want anyone seeing me like this.”
Shawn hesitated only a second—Daniel’s pretty face, the vulnerability act, the quiet plea—was hard to refuse. “Yeah, come on.”
They slipped into the single-stall staff bathroom. Door locked. Daniel immediately leaned heavily against the sink, breathing shallow, one hand braced on the counter. Shawn stepped close instinctively, arm around Daniel’s waist to steady him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Shawn asked, voice soft. “Want me to get water? Or call someone?”
Daniel lifted his head slowly, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. “No… just stay. You’re steady. Feels better with you here.” His free hand slid up Shawn’s chest—slow, testing—fingers curling into the vest fabric. “You’ve been watching me all night too, haven’t you?”
Shawn’s breath hitched. “Maybe.”
Daniel smiled—slow, dizzy, inviting. He leaned in, lips brushing Shawn’s jaw. “Then help me forget how shit I feel.”
The kiss was immediate—hungry, messy. Shawn groaned into it, hands gripping Daniel’s hips, pressing him back against the sink. Daniel let himself be manhandled, head lolling back as Shawn kissed down his neck, sucking a mark just below the collar. Daniel’s hands roamed—under Shawn’s vest, nails scraping lightly over abs—encouraging, but always with that faint tremble, the “I’m so out of it” performance.
He timed it perfectly.
The door handle rattled—then pushed open.
Nick stepped in, freezing mid-stride.
Daniel was pinned against the sink, Shawn’s mouth on his throat, one hand sliding down toward Daniel’s belt. Daniel’s eyes snapped to Nick—wide, glassy, panicked in an instant.
“Nick—” Daniel gasped, voice cracking, pushing weakly at Shawn’s chest. “Shawn—stop, wait—”
Shawn pulled back, confused, flushed. “What? You were—”
Daniel swayed hard, knees buckling for real this time (or so it looked), sliding down the sink a few inches before catching himself. “I… I told you I was dizzy… I didn’t mean…” His voice trembled—perfect victim cadence. “I just needed help standing.”
Nick’s face darkened instantly. Protective fury surged. “Back off,” he said to Shawn, low and dangerous, stepping forward. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, blocking escape.
Shawn raised both hands, stepping away. “Whoa—hold on. He came on to me. He asked me in here, said he was feeling off, then started kissing me—”
“I didn’t—” Daniel cut in, voice small, eyes flicking to Nick with wide, pleading vulnerability. “I was disoriented… I thought he was just helping me sit… I don’t even remember saying yes to that…”
Nick’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Shawn—his focus was entirely on Daniel, pale and trembling against the sink, shirt rumpled, lips swollen, looking every inch the overwhelmed, taken-advantage-of victim.
“Get out,” Nick told Shawn, voice steel. “Now.”
Shawn opened his mouth—then closed it. He saw the look in Nick’s eyes: no room for argument. He slipped past, muttering “whatever, man” under his breath, door clicking shut behind him.
Silence.
Daniel exhaled shakily, sliding down to sit on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands. “God… I’m so sorry you saw that. I feel like an idiot. I just… needed a minute. The room was spinning, I asked him to help me in here, and then… I don’t know. Everything blurred.”
Nick crouched in front of him, one hand on Daniel’s knee—steadying, grounding. “Hey. You’re okay. He shouldn’t have pushed it. Not when you were clearly out of it.”
Daniel looked up through his lashes—eyes glassy, grateful, a little lost. “You believe me?”
“Yeah,” Nick said without hesitation. “You’ve been off all night—dizzy spells at rehearsal, again tonight. You’re not yourself. No way you’d be in control like that.”
Daniel’s lips trembled—Oscar-worthy. “I feel so stupid. Can’t even get home like this. The alcohol hit harder than I thought… I shouldn’t have had that last drink.”
Nick’s protective streak flared full force. “You’re not going home alone. Not like this.”
Daniel shook his head weakly. “You’ve got Charlie waiting. Go. I’ll… figure it out. Call an Uber or something.”
“No.” Nick stood, offering his hand. “I’m not leaving you to stumble into traffic or pass out somewhere. Come on. My flat’s closer than yours anyway. You can crash on the sofa, sober up. I’ll make sure you’re good.”
Daniel took the hand—fingers lingering in Nick’s warm grip. “You sure? Charlie won’t mind?”
“He’ll understand. You’re not well.” Nick pulled him up gently, arm sliding around Daniel’s waist to support him. Daniel leaned into it—head dropping to Nick’s shoulder for a heartbeat, breathing in his cologne.
“Thank you,” Daniel whispered, voice small and raw. “You’re… too good, Nick.”
Nick guided him out the side door—rain still falling, but lighter now. He flagged a cab, helped Daniel inside, sliding in beside him. Daniel rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed, but a tiny, secret smile curled his lips when Nick wasn’t looking.
The cab pulled away.
Nick checked his phone—11:28 PM.
He’d promised before 12.
But the detour to “make sure Daniel was safe” would stretch that promise thin.
Daniel’s plan had worked better than he’d hoped: the hero complex triggered, trust deepened, proximity guaranteed.
And Nick—good, protective Nick—was walking right into it.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Substack.
