Page 210 of The Bittersweet Bond

The thought barely formed before Alexander suddenly stopped and turned to him. His grin was even wider now, his eyes shining under the erratic flashes of light.

“Welcome, Sebastian,” he called over the noise. “This is New York like you’ve never seen it before.”

Alexander leaned dramatically against the bar, his movements exaggerated, like he owned the entire room. The flickering neon glow highlighted the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he reached into the pocket of his jacket with a triumphant smirk. Bas instinctively furrowed his brows.

“Time to make things a little more interesting,” Alexander declared, pulling out a small glass vial. It was slim, simple, yet elegant—designed for a different kind of luxury. The contents shimmered faintly under the lights, and Bas felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“What is that?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Want a hit?” Alexander replied casually, bringing the tiny opening to his nose. His movements were smooth, almost practiced. A sharp inhale, then he tilted his head back, eyes closed. “This is what it’s all about,” he murmured with a satisfied smile before looking up again.

Bas stood frozen, arms crossed, his chest tightening with a mix of unease and resistance. The music around him seemed to pound louder, thudding against his ribs, as Alexander held out the vial.

“Your turn, man,” he said, as if it were nothing. "Trust me, after this, you’ll see the world with completely different eyes."

Bas looked at the vial first, then at Alexander. His eyes were slightly glazed now, but his grin remained unwavering.

"No," Bas said simply, his voice calm, his gaze steady. "I don’t need drugs to have a good time."

Alexander studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he really meant it. Eventually, he just shrugged, slipped the vial back into his pocket, and leaned back against the bar with a contented sigh.

"Your choice. But you’re missing out."

Bas didn’t reply. Instead, he let his gaze wander through the room, feeling a strange warmth settle in his chest. The lights seemed brighter, the crowd denser, the air heavier. Something about this place felt off—foreign, but not in the intriguing way Alexander tried to make it seem. Yet, oddly enough, there was something tempting about the grime, the rawness of it all.

Alexander, on the other hand, was completely in his element. His movements grew smoother, almost exaggeratedly relaxed, his laughter occasionally cutting through the music. But none of it felt real to Bas.

"This is freedom, bro," Alexander eventually called over the bass, his eyes gleaming with euphoria. "Real, untamed freedom."

Bas let the words hang in the air, letting them roll off him. Freedom? To him, this felt more like a cage—just one dressed in flashing lights and loud music.

The room continued to pulse with the beat, and now that the first wave of discomfort had begun to fade, Bas felt a strange sense of belonging creep in. It was loud, chaotic, and yet, maybe because of that, he felt alive.

"You know," Alexander started, taking another sip from his glass, "in New York, no one gives a damn who you are, where you come from, or what you do. The only thing that matters is who you want to be tonight. Your name? Your money? None of it matters."

Bas raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like bullshit. Everyone here looks like they’re just waiting to be noticed."

Alexander laughed—a short, rough chuckle that sounded more like agreement than denial.

"Of course. But the difference is, here, they’re trying to be someone they actually like. Not just what Mommy and Daddy expect them to be."

Bas let the words sink in for a moment as he set his glass down on the bar. "So, you're saying New York is authenticity in chaos?"

"Exactly." Alexander turned toward him, leaning one elbow on the counter. "Here, you can show your dark sides, live out your craziest ideas. No one’s gonna judge you for it. Do you know how rare that is?"

Bas scoffed quietly but couldn’t hide the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"And you think I have dark sides?"

"Everyone does," Alexander replied with an amused grin. "The question is, when will you let yourself show them? Santa B is holding you back, isn’t it? All those rules. What you can say. What you can’t. How you’re supposed to act. What impression you make. Here? No one gives a damn about impressions."

Uff…

Bas didn’t answer, but he couldn’t deny that something about Alexander’s words struck a nerve. New York did have a different energy. It was dirtier, more honest—and maybe that was exactly what he had been missing.

"What's holding you back?" Alexander asked suddenly, taking another sip from his glass.

"From what?" Bas gave him a questioning look.

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