There’s Something About Her
+ hamzah x reader, clubbing, first meet, slow burn(?), one shot.
The Uber ride reeks of vape and Mandy’s flower perfume. You’re in the back, trying to stay straight, phone still playing the playlist you begged her to blast while you were taking shots off her vanity.
She twists around from the passenger seat, lip gloss in one hand, phone in the other. “Okay. Please be normal.”
“I am normal,” you reply, slow and carefully like you’re trying to convince yourself.
She gives you a side-eye look. The kind that says if you get us bounced, I will actually kill you. And you understand that.
You somehow make it past the bouncers. It’s loud. Hot. Everyone’s too beautiful or too sweaty. Mandy’s already on the phone with her boyfriend Martin, yelling over the bass.
“HELLO? WHERE’S THE TABLE?? NO, I CAN’T HEAR YOU, WE JUST GOT IN—”
You’re holding her hand and trying not to fall, squinting through lights and sweaty people. She drags you to the back corner where VIP is roped off, and there he is.
Never seen him before. Tall, clean, fine and unreadable.
“Hey,” Martin says, greeting you with a hug. “This is Hamzah. He’s visiting from Toronto.”
You blink. Say your name. Reach out to shake Hamzah’s hand and miss slightly. “Sorry. I’m already drunk. The pregame was pregaming.”
He raises a brow. Doesn’t laugh. Just looks at Mandy, “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Mandy says, brushing it off. “She’s just gonna sit for like ten minutes. She always does this.”
You’re already halfway to collapsing into the booth.
The music’s vibrating through your body, your feet hurt from the heels, your chest is warm, and the room’s moving just a little too fast. You lean back, close your eyes for a second.
When you open them, there’s a jacket on your lap.
It wasn’t there before. Oversized. Heavy. Still warm from whoever wore it. The fabric smells like sweet and something clean. Expensive. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t feel comforting but does.
You look around. He’s not looking at you. Or maybe he is. You can’t tell. You blink slowly and accept the jacket since you feel cold anyway.
A few minutes later, some guy shows up. Probably one of those tryhard guys who smells like cologne or something you never know.
“Hey gorgeous,” he said, looking down next to you. “Why you sittin’ pretty here all alone?”
You shrug. “just chillin’.”
He asks if you want a drink. You’re too slow to say no, and your hand’s halfway to the cup when—
Hamzah grabs it. No hesitation. Fingers brushing your wrist just enough to get you back to awareness.
“You can leave now,” he tells the guy flatly.
The random guy scoffs. “Bro, chill. I was just being friendly.”
Hamzah gives him a hard look. “She’s clearly not sober. Why the fuck are you offering her shit?”
The guy murmurs something and walks off. You look at Hamzah, who doesn’t say anything, just disappears again.
When he comes back, it’s with a plastic water bottle. He puts it on the table in front of you and slides into the booth beside you, silent.
You smile. “So you’re also a random guy. Should I not accept this either?”
He just looks at you, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. Not anger. Not concern. Just… quiet intensity. You feel it settle in your chest.
You laugh and drink the water anyway.
“You’re not gonna go dance?” you ask, trying to face him.
“Nah,” he says. “Not leaving you alone while you’re like this.”
You laughed. “I’m chilling now. I’m alright. I’ll find y’all in five. Go have fun with them.”
He ignores it, so you just let him stay there next to you.
You don’t talk for a while. He doesn’t seem like the type who needs to fill silence, which is kind of nice. You’re still a little dizzy. The lights are spinning, music shifting into a new set. Your favorite song comes on.
You sit up fast. “Oh my god, this is my shit.”
You’re humming along, swaying your feet a little, while you watch Mandy in the crowd wrapped around Martin like a cutest couple in the world.
You giggle to yourself. “They’re so cute.”
And then you crash again. Quick little wave of nausea, maybe, or just a headspin. Either way, you lean to the side and your head finds Hamzah’s shoulder.
He doesn’t move. Just shifts slightly, lets you adjust. His shoulder’s warm. He smells good, like something subtle but expensive. You let yourself sink into it, just for a second longer than necessary.
Your hands are cold again. You rub them together, trying to get some heat, but it’s not helping.
So you do the probably stupidest thing you’ve done all night, you press your freezing fingers to his cheek. You don’t know why you did it.
He flinches a little. Not hard. Just surprised. His jaw tightens.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m cold.”
He stays still for a second, like he’s thinking about it. Then his hand finds your waist, gentle. Pulls you in a little more.
“Just relax a bit,” he says softly. “You’re good.”
You rub your thumb in soft circles against his jaw. He mirrors you, thumb touching your hip, tracing the little seam of your dress like it’s something fragile.
You’re not talking, but it’s weirdly comfortable. Intimate in a way that sneaks up on you. His breath is steady. Yours is not.
You don’t know what he’s thinking. You kind of want to.
You’re not sure how long you stay like that.
“HELLOOO?” Mandy’s voice breaks the moment. She stumbles over with Martin, both of them flushed and smiling.
She squints at you and Hamzah. “What you guys doinggg?”
You pull your hand off Hamzah’s face like you just got caught doing something illegal. His hand is still at your waist.
“Girl,” you say. “Are you drunk?”
“I am,” she says proudly. “Because for once I’m not babysitting. I got my man. You got Hamzah.”
“‘Got Hamzah’ is crazy,” you laughed.
Hamzah doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t move either.
“You okay to come to the crowd?” Mandy asks. “Or are you still napping?”
You nod. “I’m good now. We should go.”
She laughs and pulls you up. Martin raises an eyebrow at her. “Babe, you can’t even walk straight.”
“She’s good,” you say, looping your arm through Mandy’s. “Trust me. She doesn’t get drunk.”
As you head toward the crowd, you glance back.
Back at the table, Martin leans over to Hamzah, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you.
“So?” Martin says. “You think she’s cute?”
Hamzah sips his drink. “She’s alright. First impression’s a little… off. Probably won’t remember me tomorrow.”
“She’s funny... and I don’t know... there’s something about her. I kinda want to make sure she gets home safe.”
Martin grins. “She’s single, by the way.”
“And I don’t do long distance.” Hamzah says.
“You don’t do long distance yet.”
Hamzah shakes his head, but he’s still watching you. In the crowd. Singing too loud. Spinning in place. Hands up, face glowing from the lights.
“She’s cool,” he finally says. “I think I want to get to know her more.”
