The Pike. The worst nightclub you could venture into in the city. The hotspot for nazis, perverts, whores, druggies, goths, you name it. The nightclub that had a reputation for violence and rape, only managing to stay open because they had all relevant authorities bribed up to their necks. At least, those were the rumours. So why the hell was Shy standing on the other side of the road from it, contemplating whether or not he should go inside?

He'd spent two hours trying to decide what to wear and getting dressed, and another hour to fix his hair, just so that he wouldn't stick out too much. Still, he felt suspicious eyes on him whenever someone walked past to enter the club, looks that made him feel as if he was being evaluated and just barely passed. He was wearing, over a black tank top, a military uniform jacket, a replica of what the German officers wore during the first world war, his half-brother Solemn had told him when they'd found it at a second-hand store, and Shy hoped desperately that he was right. With that he was wearing a pair of tight black jeans stuffed into a pair of knee-length steel-toe boots he'd stolen from his older brother Courage's closet. Courage had never used them, so they were near-sparkling. Shy's hair had been the real problem. It's unnatural straightness made it impossible to do anything with and in the end, Shy had given up, washed out all of his sister's hair products and collected his masses of dark brown hair in a high pony-tail.

So now he was standing there, feeling numb rather than nervous, watching as people went into the discret, harmless-looking building, most passing the burly bouncer without problem. Taking a deep breath, Shy slipped a pair of gloves that matched his jacket out of his pocket and slid them on, pushing himself away from the building he'd been leaning on, and walked across the street, head high, eyes deliberately cold and nonchalant as he approached the entrance. Less than a few steps away from him, he looked the bouncer in the eye and smirked, trying his hardest to seem confident. His acting skills and talent for deceit was good enough, he knew that already.

The bouncer nodded, unimpressed and uncaring, and opened the door for Shy, allowing the seventeen-year-old to slip inside. The moment he was inside, it wasn't the people or the loud music that affected him, but the eerie atmosphere. It was like stepping into a room filled with menace and anger-mixed ecstacy that almost seemed alive. Shy smiled. He knew he wasn't supposed to, anti-social and inexperienced as he was, but he loved it. The way he felt about the place reminded him of the sensation that Noah stirred up in him. This newfound comfort boosted his confident and he kept his head up, actually meeting strangers' eyes as he moved towards the bar.

"Beer." he told the female bartender airily as she looked at him inquiringly, and she nodded, handing it to him in exchange for the money. Beer glass in hand, Shy turned around, screening the room, looking for Noah or anyone associated to him. Heart thumping, he spotted someone very familiar immediately. It was Henning, Maike's brother. He was sitting in a booth with a girl clinging to him, practically chewing on his neck. Henning was one of the scariest people Shy'd ever seen. A large tribal tattoo covered most part of his shaved head and a slice of his face, and the man had muscles that would've made the Hulk feel scrawny in comparison. On the other side of him sat another guy with a shaved head. He didn't look half as frightening, actually, he was rather cute, the only thing that made him scary was the way he was watching Henning and his girl with a murderous glare. The rest of the people at their table were drunk loud-mouths, but Noah was nowhere to be seen.

A little dissappointed, but not yet discouraged, Shy continued to study the room. The crowd was rather mixed. Goths and metal heads, girls in skimpy PVC outfits and punks. The only thing that was consistent was the fact that they were all outrageous. Outcasts. Rebellious. Shy smiled, taking a sip from his beer, forcing himself not to squint his eyes at the foul taste of it. That was the first time he'd ever drunk alcohol, but Shy didn't linger on the thought, he was too busy looking for Noah.

"Hey, don't you go to my school?" someone asked suddenly and Shy turned his head slowly, finding himself looking at a slightly taller cybergoth boy with vibrant green and dull black dreads extensions and matching make-up and false lashes. He vaguely remembered having a green-haired boy in his History class, but couldn't for the world say if it was in fact the boy in front of him.

"Probably." Shy retorted, his tone sounding more bored than he'd intended it to.

"I'm Brandon." the boy introduced himself with a very white smile and boldly took the glass of beer out of Shy's hand and drank from it. "I never thought in a million years that I'd see you here, though... Or dressed like that. Do you know how fucking hot you look?"

"Thanks. I guess." Shy retorted, reaching over to take back his glass, but Brandon captured his hand.

"What's your name again? Sky?"

"Shy." he corrected, glancing at the hand Brandon was still holding. The other boy seemed to have forgotten all about it already, but then again, he seemed rather drunk.

"Shy? Oh, that's so cute!" Brandon gushed and was about to say something more, but was interrupted by a sudden turmoil. The boy looked a little confused as he lost his train of thought, then realised what was going on and shone up. Overly excited, the green-haired boy pulled Shy with him as he headed towards the commotion. Three guys were beating each other up like there was no tomorrow and while they were ignored by most, some had already gathered around them, screaming encouragingly and cheering them on. Shy huffed at it all, not really finding it neither appalling nor amusing, but Brandon was giggling like a maniac and when of them got a punch in the face that sent blood and saliva spraying all over a nearby girl, the boy laughed so hard he had to hang on to Shy's arm for dear life.

It took a good five minutes before the security guards sauntered in, too used to the fighting to care, and broke them up, pointedly forcing them out of the club, bleeding and struggling. Brandon was still giggling, but calming down, and wrapped his arms around Shy's neck, the still cold glass of beer pressing against his neck. Shy stared at him, not quite understanding what the hell was going on.

"I love it when they fight..." Brandon sighed happily, the last of his adorably crazy giggles dying. Shy was a little taken aback by the fact that the green-haired boy figured he could talk to and touch him so easily, as if they really knew each other.

"Brandy?" Brandon's head whipped up and he instantly untangled himself from Shy, beaming at a girl with blue cyberlox, no eyebrows and an outfit made out of mostly plastic. Honestly, she was a little too plump to pull the style off, but other than that she was cute enough for a girl.

"Clara, baby!" Brandon answered excitedly. "Did you see all the yummy blood?"

"You're disgusting." Clara laughed, sneaking her arms around the slim boy's body and smacked a kiss on his cheek.

"Oh, Clara, this is Shy. He goes to our school! He's in my History class!"

"I love your jacket, Shy." Clara said in a way of greeting, then turned back to Brandon. "Did you see Noah and Trench arguing in the bathroom?"

Shy snapped his head up to stare at Clara, the urge to squeal in happiness almost overwhelming. Brandon made an odd gesture with his free hand that apparently meant he hadn't and he took another long sip out of Shy's beer, urging Clara to keep talking.

"Apparently, Noah pushed Trench's sister down a flight of stairs and she broke her ankle! Trench is so mad!" Clara informed proudly and Shy huffed.

"I saw when that happened, and she did not break her ankle. She fell like five steps." Shy countered and finally managed to steal his beer back from Brandon.

"So she's faking it?" Brandon asked, covering his mouth with his hands as if he'd just been told Santa wasn't real.

"That bitch!" Clara gasped in much the same manner. Shy chuckled and downed what was left of the beer. The rim of the glass tasted grossly sweet of lipgloss and a quick glance towards Brandon confirmed that he was indeed wearing something of the sort.

"Why don't you ever talk to me in school, Shy?" Brandon asked, changing the subject and his facial expression. He was pouting, letting a long, graceful finger slide over Shy's upper arm.

"I don't talk to a lot of people." Shy shrugged, his eyes trailing over the rest of the people in the club. His mind was still set on finding Noah.

"You should." Brandon said with an odd sound of determination, nodding his head. "You should talk to me."

"I have to go to the bathroom." Shy said, his eyes coming to a rest on the green-haired boy. Noah wasn't in this part of the club, he'd concluded.

"I'll go with you!" Brandon answered, enthused, and took Shy's hand, incidentally the one occupied by a glass, and the fragile item fell to the ground, bouncing oddly on the floor, rolling away whole, only to be crushed under a pair of crudely purple-painted combat boots a few feet away.

"Oops?" Brandon said innocently and giggled, pulling Shy along with him as he made his way through the club.

The unisex bathroom at The Pike was just like the worst case scenario Shy had imagined. The small corridore leading to the bathroom was packed with couples blatantly feeling each other up, alcohol and drugs running through their blood. In the actual bathroom, a girl with puke in her hair was out cold underneath a sink, her dress pulled almost all the way over her head and another girl was crying uncontrollably in a corner, her white-painted face grey with mascara tears. There was rattling and moaning coming from inside a cubicle, making it painfully obvious what was going on there, and in the neighbouring cubicle, with the door swung wide open, two boys were sharing a needle shamelessly. In the far corner of the room, Shy finally spotted the person he'd been looking for and had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the bliss was still there but not the overwhelming want to squeal in excitement. Noah had one of his skin head friends, apparently Trench, pinned against the ugly white tile, his hand on the other boy's throat. Trench's head lolled somewhat lifelessly, his face half covered in blood, but his eyes were still fixed on his friend-turned-enemy. Noah was whispering, no, hissing something and Trench nodded, instantly rewarded by the removal of the hand on his throat and he gasped for air, slipping down on the floor in a bundle, breath rasping and coughing.

Brandon squeaked excitedly, clutching Shy's hand tighter.

"Come on, let's look at him." Brandon whispered, giggling, and Shy stared at him confusedly and found himself being pulled towards that part of the room. Noah turned his head and watched them warily as Brandon fell down on his knees beside Trench, tilting his head and smiling crazily, his hands twitching, wanting to touch the trembling, bloodied boy on the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with your friend?" Noah asked briskly, wiping off the blood on his shirt. Shy whipped his head to look up at Noah, his heart going a mile a minute.

"I don't know. I think he's just sadistic. I only just met him." Shy managed, his sentences chopped short by nervousness. Noah, so close. So close. There was no way to describe just how gorgeous he was, sweat trickling over his forehead, his hair damp and messy, an alcohol-induced flush on his cheeks and a red touch to his alert eyes. Those eyes. They were dark blue now, in this light, with aqua blue specks in the center. He smelled of smoke, blood, puke and beer, the scent stingy and sour but Shy felt at that moment, if someone sold that scent by the bottle he'd buy it without the blink of an eye.

"Aren't you the kid who hangs out with Henning's fat brother?" Noah asked, frowning, and Shy's breath almost hitched. Trying not to stare at the blonde boy, he turned his eyes to Brandon who was slowly inching closer to the half passed out Trench. Nervously, his eyes fluttered back up to Noah's face, his gaze lingering on his full, rough lips.

"Uhm, yeah." Shy admitted, finally remembering to speak and brushed back a stray strand of hair behind his ear, trying to surpress the urge to pounce on the taller boy. "My name's Shy."

"Good for you." Noah muttered, and abruptly turned around and left.

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A/N: Totally rude of Noah, I know. But I don't want things to get completely out of hand already and I don't know what Shy might've been capable of if I'd let Noah stay. It could've gotten messy. :P