one

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Wren Winslow was standing nervously on the pavement outside Leicester Square station, her cheeks stained a light pink from the bitterness of the night air. The moon was only half full, a waning gibbous circled by the sparkle of surrounding stars, casting faint light down on the girl's face as she glanced around, struggling to see over the heads of busy commuters.

She had never been to London before and so, unlike the majority of people pushing past her, didn't know the streets like the back of her hand. To make matters worse, she had somehow lost her best friend, and tour guide, in the rather overwhelming sea of people.

"When I said stay close to me," Milo huffed as he appeared beside her, "I didn't mean stand still in the middle of the street." A weight was instantly lifted off Wren's chest at the reappearance of her closest friend.

"Sorry," She smiled meekly, "There was just so many people and I got distracted and then I turned and you,"

Milo stopped her rambling by cupping her cheeks, holding his face very close to hers, "Wren."

"What?" She replied, blinking up at him with a look of bewilderment. For a moment it felt as if it were just them, as if the vast crowd of people surrounding them had simply disappeared; Milo always knew how to calm Wren down.

Despite being a witch and having been brought up by all things fantastical, Wren wasn't quite sure she believed in mystical ideals like soulmates. But if people really did have split souls or there was some invisible string pulling each other together, then Milo was Wren's platonic other half. She really wasn't sure what she would do without him.

"Let's go get wasted." He said with a straight face before the corners of his moisturised lips curled into a mischievous grin. He grabbed Wren's hand and started to lead her through crowds of people, the girl following her friend blindly.

Her heels were clicking rhythmically against the cobbled pavement as she struggled to keep up with Milo, his long legs making him walk twice the speed of Wren. She allowed herself to admire the city for a moment; The night sky alight with high rise buildings, the low buzz of black cabs and buses speeding past, the light-hearted chatter of drunken friends stumbling out of bars.

Growing up in a pure blooded and prejudiced family never allowed Wren to experience muggle culture, always confined to the four walls of their ancestral home or the overly familiar streets of Diagon Alley. Now that she was eighteen, she vowed to herself that she would explore life outside of the wizarding world, without the added anxiety of her parents watching her every move.

How lucky she was that her best friend knew London inside and out.

"I still can't believe you've never been to a Muggle pub." Milo scoffed, slowing his pace to match Wren's once they had cleared the crowds of people.

"I've been to the Three Broomsticks!" Wren countered, "That's torture enough."

Milo smirked, "Tonight is your right of passage into adulthood."

"What does that mean?" Her panic was evident in her voice, but the boy simply smirked wider, "Milo!"

The potent smell of beer hit Wren instantly, as Milo pushed up against the heavy wooden door with his body. Middle aged men and women were clustered around the bar with their pints held tightly, all eyes glued on the small, box-like television fixed to the corner where the walls met. Rough commentary sounded loudly from the television, small specks of red and white rushing around a pitch playing football were nothing but a grainy picture.

The red carpet was soft under the point of Wren's heel, a nice change for her already aching feet. Milo eventually slipped into a booth, signalling for Wren to join him from where she was leant against the wooden countertop of the bar, her intrigue fixated on the football match.

As she joined her friend in the booth towards the back of the pub, a smile lit up her soft features, "It's like Quidditch!"

Milo watched, smirking, as her enjoyment in something so mundane contorted into confusion, as men and women erupted into cheers, white froth from the top of their beers soaking the bar.

Wren turned her head back to Milo, "It smells in here." 

*

The platinum blonde haired boy was staring at a shot glass full of tequila in disgust, his top lip curled up to show his distaste.

"Just do the shot, Milo." Wren whined, "It's really not that bad!"

The pub had quietened down a little now, the clock nearing midnight and Wren and Milo nearing their tenth shot. Wren had a slight pink tint to her cheeks, not being able to stop the euphoric giggles bubbling in her chest, and Milo looked completely out of it. The girl watched as her friend contemplated her words, her eyes widening as he picked the shot glass up and downed it in one go.

It took him a moment before the strong taste of alcohol hit him, his hand clasping his mouth in a frantic attempt not to spit the liquid out.

""I hate you!" He moaned, stumbling out of the booth they were sitting in, "No because I'm actually gonna throw up!"

Wren giggled, watching as Milo ran towards the toilet. His hands ran along the length of the walls in an attempt to stop himself from falling over. He had always been the biggest light weight and yet, despite being sick every single time, he still drank anything in sight with only the tiniest of persuasions.

Wren looked around the dimly lit pub for something else to entertain her while she waited for Milo, rhythmically tapping the pads of her fingers against the wooden table. The football had ended a couple hours ago, an old game of cricket now playing on the TV which Wren had quickly lost interest in. She noted a foosball table and a dartboard, deeming both useless without anybody to compete against.

Her eyes felt heavy as they scanned the pub, eventually settling on a scruffy looking man sitting alone at the bar on the far side. A strange feeling in her gut was prompting her to go over to him but, despite her inebriated state, she stopped herself.

He looked as though he didn't want to be disturbed, his eyes downcast and face hidden by the messy curls of his hair, and Wren wasn't in the habit of talking to men who were clearly older than her.

A few minutes passed before she found herself looking at him again. "Fuck it." She thought, "It's my birthday."

The man didn't protest as Wren sat down on the bar stool beside him, lifting his gaze from his glass as he watched her with intrigue. Wren shuffled so that she was sitting comfortably, the bare skin of her thighs pressing against the soft padding of the stool, before turning to him with a small smile.

She could see him more clearly now, admiring the mute brown of his hair, just able to make out the dark shade of brown glistening in his eyes through the low light of the pub.

"Hello." She smiled, pulling at the hem of her dress in an attempt to correct where it had risen. She noticed how his eyes flickered down to her legs at the movement.

"Hello." He replied. His lips were set in a straight line, no smile gracing them as he held his eyes at half mast, running them over her soft features.

"Wanna buy me a drink?" Wren looked up at him through the dark flutter of her eyelashes, twirling a silky strand of hair around her index finger.

"Sure." He shrugged, nonchalant as he flagged the bartender down with a simple wave of his hand, "Another one of these and whatever she's having, please."

The bartender looks at Wren expectantly who, in turn, panics, "Two of them." She says, pointing to the nearly empty glass in his hand.

"You won't like it." He says. His eyes are on Wren again, the dark brown of his irises studying the intricate details - small, tan freckles painting the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, the perfect, plump dip of her cupid's bow and the faint dimples that appeared when she smiled.

"How do you know I won't like it?" She huffs, her arched brows furrowing in faux annoyance. Grabbing the bottle from where his hands were clasped around the base, she took a long and overconfident sip of the deep amber liquid.

The look of determination on her face immediately turned to an uncomfortable grimace the second the alcohol hit the back of her throat, as she clasped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from spitting it out. Wren pushes the glass back towards him as she forces herself to swallow.

"That was," She choked out, stopping as she swallowed again.

"Disgusting?" He finished, to which Wren nodded. He turned to the bartender who was watching the situation unfold in amusement, quickly adding, "She'll have a rum and coke."

A silence fell upon the two for a moment, before Wren broke it with her drunk state's eager need to talk. "I didn't mean to bother you." The now unstyled strands of her fringe fell across her forehead as she looked down at where she was fiddling awkwardly with her fingers.

"You're not bothering me." He cut her off, a flicker of emotion finally showing on his face as he furrowed his brows.

*

Wren wasn't sure what had possessed her to follow the man into the bathroom. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe the way he had been looking at her. The door closed behind her with a slight thud.

"You know this is the men's room?" He asked, without even looking up from the sink as he washed his hands.

"I know." She replied, her voice coming out small as she slowly walked towards him. The light in the bathroom was brighter than that in the pub, allowing her to see him a little more clearly. He had a scar under his right eye, the skin around it pink showing it was fresh, and another, healed, scar carved along his left cheekbone.

Wren's hand seemed to have a mind of its own as she reached up to touch the scar on his cheek, but his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist before the pads of her fingers could touch the pink skin. "Don't" He whispered, his voice lower than it had been all night.

Wren looked at the man in a mix of surprise and confusion at his irritation, head slightly tilted, her eyes meeting with the dark brown of his own. His thumb began to gently brush back and forth against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, as Wren's eyes flickered down to the man's lips.

Wren suddenly closes the gap between them, standing on her tiptoes so that she could better reach him. He responded instantly, as if he'd been longing for this since the moment Wren sat down beside him.

As their lips crashed together, his hands started to hungrily explore her body, eventually resting on the small of her back, the other gripping the nape of her neck. Wren gasped as he bit her bottom lip.

He pushed her up against the wall forcefully, one hand pulling on her hair as he began to kiss at her neck, teeth nibbling at skin, causing a small moan to pass Wren's already swollen lips.

He flipped her round in one swift movement, his free hand guiding both of Wren's hands to rest against the wall, so that her back was arched towards him. As soon as his hands left hers, rough fingers began to roam across the front of her body, shivers running along the length of her skin from where his fingers brushed against her. When they reached the hem of her dress that he'd been eyeing earlier, he hiked it up, allowing the fabric to bunch at the curve of her waist.

Wren's chest heaved, small moans escaping her lips as she struggled to hide how badly she wanted him. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Wren turned her head to see the muscles flexing in the man's arm, the veins of his hands becoming more prominent as his fingers wrapped around the leather of his belt, pulling it from the buckle.

His eyes met hers for a brief second before Wren threw her head back in pleasure, his firm grip giving a reassuring squeeze to her hip before dropping down to guide himself to where she had wanted him all evening.

An initial gasp, followed by a quiet moan as Wren adjusted to the foreign yet welcomed feeling. The man let out a growl-like sound which seemed to get caught in his throat, his touch patient but not gentle as he bought his hips to meet hers. His left hand moved up her back, fingers intertwining with the curls of her hair, whilst the other firmly held onto her waist so that he could easily push into her.

Wren whimpered as he brought her to him harshly, slightly losing her footing for a brief moment before both of his rough hands gripped onto her waist. She straightened her back to be flush against his chest, feeling the light tickle of his hair brushing against her neck as he leant forward, quickly replaced by the rough bite of his lips as he kissed her neck.

He suddenly flipped her around, pushing her up against the wall as he took her lips on his own. Wren pushed his shirt up, resting her hands against the sharp chisel of his bare chest underneath. He slipped his hands around her back, lifting her up with ease as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their mouths were still connected as he took a few steps, gently placing her down on the sink.

His hands roamed hungrily along her hips and thighs as they spread out across the porcelain, before he reached down and guided himself back inside. The new position created a whole new sensation, and Wren couldn't help the moans starting to slip from her lips with every other breath she took.

To stop Wren from moaning quite so loudly, his hand grabbed onto the back of her neck before his lips crashed down onto her own. She felt his tongue invading her mouth, not able to quiet herself as she moaned against his lips.

Wren pushed herself even closer to the man, making his length sink deeper into her which in turn caused a low moan to escape the confines of his throat. He placed a hand on the wall behind her, the man deepening and quickening his thrusts with his growing need. She welcomed all of it, feeling the muscles tighten in her stomach, her breaths quickening with his growing pace.

"Don't stop." Wren stuttered out between breaths, her hands gripping onto the man's shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin, a small pain he seemed to welcome.

The man simply hummed in amusement, too caught up in his own pleasure to verbally respond. He kept up his rough pace, pushing Wren's back up against the mirror behind her. Her head rolled back as she bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan as she felt herself tumble over the edge.

At the feeling of her walls closing around him, he let out a low groan as he grabbed onto the sink either side of Wren. He hung his head, brown hair covering his face as he came, arms threatening to buckle as they shook.

He quickly pulled himself out, zipping up his trousers and buckling his belt before Wren even had time to recover. She watched as he hesitated, obviously wanting to say something before swiftly leaving the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Wren was left panting on the sink, her dress still hiked up to her waist and small bruises forming on the soft skin of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair messy. She stared at the door in disbelief, before jumping down off the sink and pulling at the hem of her dress to cover herself up.

She looked at herself in the mirror she was only moments ago pressed up against, brushing her fingers through her hair and correcting where her lip gloss had smudged, before following suit and leaving the bathroom like nothing had even happened.

Neither the man or Milo were to be seen as Wren walked through the pub, onlookers watching her dubiously as she exited the men's bathroom, looking rather dishevelled with small marks littering the pale skin of her neck.

The cold night air was refreshing against her flushed cheeks as she stepped out of the pub door, wrapping her arms around her frame as small goosebumps formed on her arms.

"Where were you?" A gruff voice asked. Milo was sitting on the floor, his head held in his hands as he rested against his knees.

She was relieved to find Milo was still too inebriated to fully process how long Wren had actually been gone - his usually sharp mind rendered dull from all the tequila he had been drinking.

"Just," Wren started, considering whether she should tell her best friend the truth, "In the bathroom."

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