off the floor, not wanting to make it seem like this is what I did at parties (okay, maybe I did but they didn't need to know that), and side stepped a couple of boys throwing a vase between each other.

I cringed as I heard it smash behind me and footsteps running away from the scene. Turning my gaze backwards, I didn't realise— until it happened— that I was walking straight towards something.. or, somebody, more to the point.

"Shit," I said when my body crashed into theirs. "Sorry about that."

I looked up, straining my eyes in the now reddish lights bearing down at us all from the walls. Despite my almost inability to see, I could just make out those ocean eyes staring down at me.

He brought me to his chest, hands resting respectfully on my hips, and a slight smirk on his face. Those he was speaking to were long forgotten by him, yet I could feel their eyes flitting over to us every now and then. Archer leant down so that we were eye level and for the second time that night, had me overwhelmed with his scent.

Breath on my neck, he whispered, "I'll forgive you."

I coughed a little awkwardly, but made no move to detach myself from him. Instead, I pulled back so that I could see his face, trying to gauge just how much alcohol he'd drunk.

"You better," I whispered back.

He laughed a little. "Dance with me."

As if he'd controlled it, the band changed songs, reverting to a simpler, more gentle song and I felt my body hum with the sound. Without waiting much for an answer, Archer clasped my hand in his and led me, people dispersing as we went, to the centre of the floor.

I waited for him to do the honours. And, following his lead, placed a hand on his shoulder and the other in his raised, awaiting one. His fingers felt so warm and as though I could count each ridge of his fingerprint, that the material separating our skin may not have been there at all for all it's worth.

"I don't know how to dance," I whispered, becoming very aware of everyone watching us.

"Just follow my lead," he whispered back, eyes drifting from our hands to me. "And if we fuck up entirely, they'll all be too drunk to notice."

I appreciated the use of 'we,' when we both knew if we did "fuck up" the one to be entirely at fault would be me, and me only.

I nodded. "Sorry if I break you," I said, looking down at our feet.

He placed his finger under my chin so that we reconnected eyes once again. "It'll take a lot more than you stepping on my foot to break me, Jolie."

"Believe me, Archer, I'd find a way to break you somehow."

We were so close, I could see the pores I didn't think he even had. Each crevice, each slight line on his lips, I drank in with my eyes, not knowing whether I'd see art like him so close again. Yes, it was wrong to find my fake boyfriend so attractive, but for anyone with eyes, that much was obvious. I'd only be in trouble when it wasn't just his looks that entranced me.

"I don't not believe that."

I'd barely registered that we were moving, gliding this way and that. Momentarily, I began to panic because surely, surely, I'd mess this up somehow with these club feet.

"Don't think," I heard him say, voice vibrating through me. I shut my eyes for a moment, desperate to do just that. But the more I thought about not thinking the more I— and his fingers were moving, small and light against my hip, an act of comfort rather trying to be creepy— which is how I might've taken it for from someone else, yet Archer did it in such a way, that my mind had to tuggle with itself whether to feel alight at his touch or entirely at ease.

Nobody else seemed to exist, only him and I.

The lights eased from red to gold, so that now I could see a little better but those watching us were painted in a golden hue. I found myself not caring whether one person or a hundred people were watching and I were to trip. But I did feel the sudden urge to be alone with him, have everyone else filter through the doors and leave us to dance into the night.

There was something intimate about us being so close together, about us feeling like we slotted together so well.

He looked down at me, then, eyes indecipherable.

My throat started to swell. My legs felt weak, like I would collapse if he wasn't holding me upright with his grip and stare. My skin prickled as every hair on my body perked, anticipating him coming closer.

I let my tongue peek out and wet my lips, letting my eyes wander to his own. Plump and slightly red as he gnawed on them, thinking.

He was even closer now.

Our fronts were pressed into each other, unmoving. I tried to calm my erratic heart, realising he could probably feel it as if it were his own in this position.

My eyes fluttered shut and he leant down and I stood straighter, pushing aside all thoughts of 'this is insanity.' True, but I just couldn't bring myself to care at that moment.

And just as we were so, so, so close, lips millimetres apart, arms slumped across my shoulders. I shot my eyes open and looked to Archer to see he, too, had an arm on his shoulder. And just like that, the moment was ripped to shreds. He'd lost whatever that was that was swimming in his eyes, replaced with confusion and then, disappointment.

"Michelle?" He said, snapping his fingers a little bluntly.

I shot him a look. "Michelle?" I tried.

She seemed to realise why she'd come here in the first place, but her eyes still rolled about a little deliriously. "I was going to say something but now.."

I looked to her, still draped across us both like a fine tapestry.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Archer answered for her. "Too much," he said and within moments, had picked her up and put her over his shoulder. He began walking, long legs trekking the distance from where we were to the stairs far faster than I, so I had to jog in order to keep up— not so easy in such huge heels.

He surged up the stairs, maintaining his usual elegance and grace, only with a five foot eight girl muttering incomprehensible german on his shoulder. People gave him space, watching his back in shock as Michelle picked up another champagne flute from a waiter's tray and replaced it with the empty one she's been carrying.

"I only saw her half an hour ago.There's no way she could get this drunk in that time," I said, following Archer onto the landing and taking the glass from the fire girl's hands.

She made grabby hands, "Give it back," she whined. And when she was abruptly placed down, so that she fell to the ground in a heap, in front of what I could only assume was her door, "Shitze."

"You can't just leave her," I said as Archer moved to go.

"What am I supposed to do?" He said, looking at Michelle in aggravation. "Why don't I find Autumn."

"She left ages ago *hiccup*," Michelle got out with a struggle. "With *hiccup*"

"Okay," I said, guiding her towards her door. "Let's get you to bed."

Archer, conveniently having a key to her room, managed to open the door for me as Michelle decided it'd be the perfect time to slump her entire body weight against me.

I felt for a light.

The room was illuminated. I didn't have time to fawn over the intricate design or accessories dotted around her room, and instead, staggered towards the bed. She fell down on it, eyes open a little as she dozed.

Archer hovered by the door.

"Can you get her some water?"

He stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him, and made his way to the kitchen. He pushed aside the bowls and pill packets in her cupboard and picked out a glass. I turned back to Michelle.

She lay sprawled now, hair all over the place and make up smudged completely as she raised a hand and rubbed her eyes.

"I'll give him 'unstable'," she said. "I'll get help when I want to get help," she was saying. "I'll—" the rest of whatever she was going to say was garbled as she buried her face in her pillow.

Archer came up behind me. I took the water from him and placed it on her bed side table.

For the brief moment I was turned away from her, I began hearing what seemed to be someone moving about on the bed, ruffling bed clothes and struggling. I looked over and Michelle was forcing an arm out of the emerald green dress she was wearing.

"Archer turn ar—" but he was already turned.

"I'll wait outside."

***

It took longer than I expected to settle her. I managed to convince her to put on some pyjamas after she'd stripped to her underwear and was threatening to remove that, too. I left her spread eagled, but now nice and warm under the covers.

I was exhausted after pretty much having to wrestle a half-asleep, very drunk girl.

I'd expected Archer to have left by the time I'd finished, but he was there, waiting, looking all brooding and silent.

We began walking back to the party, but I find my feet dragging at the thought of having to... socialise. Enough to make the devil himself shiver.

"Hey," I said, holding onto Archer's arm, before realising what I'd done and dropped it hastily. He didn't seem to mind that much, but fixed his gaze on me. "I know this place and it's a lot more private."

"You trying to hook up with me?" He breathed, leaning down so we were practically nose to nose.

"More like to murder you."

"Oh," he whispers. "I love it when you talk homicide like that, do it again."

"Ha, ha," I muttered, glad he cracked a joke so I could be relived of at least some of my tens— wait, did he just tell a joke? Have to say I'm a little surprised, Mr Rich Boy. "Anyway it's this place, not too far, just meet me at the King's Corner," I told him, referring to the place decorated with an assortment of paintings of British monarchs, all portrayed in similar leadership poses. "I've just got to grab something!"

I made it to my room fairly quickly, just about to open the door when another one opened, relatively close to mine.

"Miles, wait," I called to him as he was about to disappear into his ajar door. He paused, waiting a moment— likely thinking of the possibility that I was talking about another Miles and he could make a clean exit— before turning to face me. "Please let me apologise. I know how important the gallery is to you and I—"

"I'm not mad about you not coming to the gallery," he sighed. "But I'm not going to lie I was a little pissed."

"So why are you annoyed?"

He breathed deeply before continuing, "I get having a boyfriend takes a lot of time. But I never get to spend time with you anymore. Yes, we talk at lunch sometimes but even then, you're with them ninety percent of the time. I know I sound immature and selfish. It's just how I feel."

"I'm sorry," I said to him. "If I try to be a less shit friend... can we still be friends?"

He rolled his eyes, but I didn't miss his slight smile, lighting up his face. "They always come crawling back."

"Guilty," I said, hands raised. "Forgive me?"

"Only if you tell me where you got that fabulous dress and agree to let me steal it some time."

I laughed. "Whatever you like."

We hugged.

As my face was nestled into his shoulder, I got the distinct whiff of peppermint, and my mind flashed to the memory of him walking out of the supply cupboard with Harry.

He can do what he likes, I reprimanded myself. When he wants to tell me, he'll tell me, but the voice wasn't all that assuring.