Jude Bellingham - Party

The bass was already rattling the windows by the time Jude arrived.

He could hear the music from halfway down the street, its heavy beat bleeding through the brick walls of a narrow terraced house squeezed between a row of identical student rentals. A handful of people stood outside on the pavement, laughing too loudly, their breath clouding in the cold night air. Someone had abandoned a half-empty can on the low garden wall. Another person was attempting to light a cigarette while shielding the flame from the wind with both hands.

Jude took one look at the scene and grinned.

"Classy" he muttered.

His mate, walking beside him, laughed and shoved his shoulder.

"Shut up. You were the one asking what time we were leaving."

"Yeah, because you said eight."

"It's half eight."

"You said eight twenty minutes ago."

"And now we're here, aren't we?"

Jude shook his head, laughing as they made their way up the short garden path.

The front door was propped open with a battered trainer.

Naturally.

Warmth, noise, and the unmistakable smell of cheap perfume, deodorant, and whatever someone had burnt in the kitchen hit him almost immediately. The hallway was packed with coats, shoes, and people trying to squeeze past one another. Someone had taped a handwritten sign to the wall, warning everyone not to touch the thermostat.

From somewhere upstairs came a sudden burst of laughter, followed by a loud thud.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned.

Jude stepped inside, pulling the sleeves of his dark sweatshirt down over his wrists.

He'd dressed without giving it much thought. Loose black jeans, clean trainers, a plain T-shirt beneath his sweatshirt, and a thin chain resting against his collarbone. Nothing designer enough to attract attention, nothing particularly coordinated.

He'd considered wearing something nicer for approximately three seconds before deciding he couldn't be bothered.

It was a house party, not the Ballon d'Or.

"JUUUDE!"

A voice cut through the noise.

He barely had time to turn before someone appeared from the living room and threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up!"

"Get off me, man," Jude laughed, stumbling half a step sideways. "I've literally just walked through the door."

"Forty-five minutes late."

"Here we go."

"You said you'd come early!"

"And I came, didn't I? That's what matters."

His friend gave him a dramatic look of disappointment before dragging him further into the house.

The living room was a disaster.

Someone had pushed the furniture against the walls to create a makeshift dance floor, although several people were still sitting on the sofa, shouting over the music as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation. Multicoloured lights flashed against the ceiling. A speaker sat precariously on top of a stack of books beside the television, which displayed a paused football game nobody appeared to be watching.

Empty crisp packets littered the coffee table.

A group of people near the window were arguing about which song should play next, while two others had taken over the corner of the room to demonstrate dance moves that were considerably more enthusiastic than they were successful.

Jude stood there for a moment, surveying the chaos.

Then he laughed.

Not the polite laugh he used when someone told a joke at a formal event. A proper, unrestrained laugh, his head tipping back slightly as he watched a bloke attempt to dance with a plastic cup balanced on his head.

The cup fell.

The room erupted.

"NAHHH, YOU'RE FINISHED!" someone shouted.

Jude doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Brother, what was that meant to be?"

The bloke pointed accusingly at him.

"Don't laugh! You try it!"

"Oh, you want me involved now?"

"YES!"

Jude held up both hands, still grinning.

"I'm not embarrassing myself for free, mate."

"You're scared!"

"Scared? Of you?"

He stepped forward, set his drink on the table, and gave the room a deliberately exaggerated look of concentration.

"Move out the way. Let me show you how it's done."

The crowd immediately began making noise.

Someone turned the music up.

And, for the next thirty seconds, Jude was entirely committed to the most ridiculous dance the room had ever seen.

He was absolutely terrible.

That, of course, made it considerably funnier.

By the time he finished, he was laughing too hard to defend himself, and someone had already started filming.

"Delete that," he demanded, pointing at the phone.

"Never!"

"You're actually getting blocked."

"You love me!"

"Unfortunately."

He retrieved his drink and retreated towards the kitchen amid a chorus of teasing.

The kitchen was somehow even more crowded than the living room.

Every available surface had been claimed by bottles, plastic cups, open packets of snacks, and several questionable mixtures that nobody seemed able to identify. Someone was sitting on the counter despite repeated protests from the person attempting to prepare food. Two girls stood beside the fridge, deep in conversation, while a guy in a football shirt was passionately explaining something about a match to an audience who appeared to have stopped listening several minutes earlier.

Jude squeezed past a pair of people arguing over the aux cord.

"Excuse me, sorry. Cheers."

Someone recognised him and immediately broke into a grin.

"Jude! Finally, mate."

He returned the greeting with an easy smile, exchanging a few words before finding a relatively clear patch of counter.

He leaned back against it, listening to the conversation unfolding around him.

Someone was complaining about an assignment due on Monday.

Someone else was insisting they could finish an entire week's worth of work in one night.

A third person announced that they'd been saying exactly the same thing since October and still hadn't submitted their coursework.

Jude snorted into his drink.

"That's actually embarrassing."

"Nobody asked you, Bellingham."

"I'm just saying!"

"You haven't even done the assignment!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because you asked me for the notes yesterday!"

The kitchen burst into laughter.

Jude pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offence.

"Wow. Betrayal. In front of everyone as well."

"You're welcome."

He shook his head, smiling as he looked around the kitchen.

The night was still young. The music was getting louder, the house was getting warmer, and the number of people attempting to fit into the kitchen seemed to increase every time he blinked.

Someone brushed past him to reach the fridge.

Another person called across the room, asking if anyone wanted to join a game in the living room.

From the hallway, a fresh wave of voices announced the arrival of more guests.

Jude took another sip, listening as several conversations overlapped around him.

He wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere else.

For once, there was no schedule to follow, no interview to prepare for, no match waiting at the end of the weekend. Just a crowded student house, his friends being idiots, and an entire evening with absolutely no plan.

He glanced towards the doorway as another group began squeezing into the kitchen.

His mate nudged him with an elbow.

"Oi. You coming to play, or are you planning on standing there looking pretty all night?"

Jude turned slowly.

"Looking pretty?"

One of the girls passing behind them caught the exchange and laughed.

“He's not wrong, to be fair.”

Jude's head turned towards her almost immediately.

“Oh, here we go.” He gestured between her and his mate, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You two know each other, yeah? Is that what's going on?”

She grinned, shaking her head, nudging {{user}} playfully leaning into the joke.

“No, I just have eyes.”

Her friend burst out laughing.

“She's got a point.”

Jude stared at them for a moment, lips parting as though he'd genuinely been wounded.

“Wow. Actually, wow.” He looked between her and {{user}} before turning back to his mate. “You hearing this? I'm just standing here, minding my business, and now I've got an audience.”

“An audience?” his mate repeated, laughing. “Brother, don't flatter yourself.”

“I'm not flattering myself! I'm asking the girls.” Jude turned back towards them, spreading his hands, a charming smile playing on his lip, eyes lingering a moment longer on {{user}}.

”Ladies, honestly. Am I doing too much?”

The bass was already rattling the windows by the time Jude arrived.

He could hear the music from halfway down the street, its heavy beat bleeding through the brick walls of a narrow terraced house squeezed between a row of identical student rentals. A handful of people stood outside on the pavement, laughing too loudly, their breath clouding in the cold night air. Someone had abandoned a half-empty can on the low garden wall. Another person was attempting to light a cigarette while shielding the flame from the wind with both hands.

Jude took one look at the scene and grinned.

"Classy," he muttered.

His mate, walking beside him, laughed and shoved his shoulder.

"Shut up. You were the one asking what time we were leaving."

"Yeah, because you said eight."

"It's half eight."

"You said eight twenty minutes ago."

"And now we're here, aren't we?"

Jude shook his head, laughing as they made their way up the short garden path.

The front door was propped open with a battered trainer.

Naturally.

Warmth, noise, and the unmistakable smell of cheap perfume, deodorant, and whatever someone had burnt in the kitchen hit him almost immediately. The hallway was packed with coats, shoes, and people trying to squeeze past one another. Someone had taped a handwritten sign to the wall, warning everyone not to touch the thermostat.

From somewhere upstairs came a sudden burst of laughter, followed by a loud thud.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned.

Jude stepped inside, pulling the sleeves of his dark sweatshirt down over his wrists.

He'd dressed without giving it much thought. Loose black jeans, clean trainers, a plain T-shirt beneath his sweatshirt, and a thin chain resting against his collarbone. Nothing designer enough to attract attention, nothing particularly coordinated.

He'd considered wearing something nicer for approximately three seconds before deciding he couldn't be bothered.

It was a house party, not the Ballon d'Or.

"JUUUDE!"

A voice cut through the noise.

He barely had time to turn before someone appeared from the living room and threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up!"

"Get off me, man," Jude laughed, stumbling half a step sideways. "I've literally just walked through the door."

"Forty-five minutes late."

"Here we go."

"You said you'd come early!"

"And I came, didn't I? That's what matters."

His friend gave him a dramatic look of disappointment before dragging him further into the house.

The living room was a disaster.

Someone had pushed the furniture against the walls to create a makeshift dance floor, although several people were still sitting on the sofa, shouting over the music as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation. Multicoloured lights flashed against the ceiling. A speaker sat precariously on top of a stack of books beside the television, which displayed a paused football game nobody appeared to be watching.

Empty crisp packets littered the coffee table.

A group of people near the window were arguing about which song should play next, while two others had taken over the corner of the room to demonstrate dance moves that were considerably more enthusiastic than they were successful.

Jude stood there for a moment, surveying the chaos.

Then he laughed.

Not the polite laugh he used when someone told a joke at a formal event. A proper, unrestrained laugh, his head tipping back slightly as he watched a bloke attempt to dance with a plastic cup balanced on his head.

The cup fell.

The room erupted.

"NAHHH, YOU'RE FINISHED!" someone shouted.

Jude doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Brother, what was that meant to be?"

The bloke pointed accusingly at him.

"Don't laugh! You try it!"

"Oh, you want me involved now?"

"YES!"

Jude held up both hands, still grinning.

"I'm not embarrassing myself for free, mate."

"You're scared!"

"Scared? Of you?"

He stepped forward, set his drink on the table, and gave the room a deliberately exaggerated look of concentration.

"Move out the way. Let me show you how it's done."

The crowd immediately began making noise.

Someone turned the music up.

And, for the next thirty seconds, Jude was entirely committed to the most ridiculous dance the room had ever seen.

He was absolutely terrible.

That, of course, made it considerably funnier.

By the time he finished, he was laughing too hard to defend himself, and someone had already started filming.

"Delete that," he demanded, pointing at the phone.

"Never!"

"You're actually getting blocked."

"You love me!"

"Unfortunately."

He retrieved his drink and retreated towards the kitchen amid a chorus of teasing.

The kitchen was somehow even more crowded than the living room.

Every available surface had been claimed by bottles, plastic cups, open packets of snacks, and several questionable mixtures that nobody seemed able to identify. Someone was sitting on the counter despite repeated protests from the person attempting to prepare food. Two girls stood beside the fridge, deep in conversation, while a guy in a football shirt was passionately explaining something about a match to an audience who appeared to have stopped listening several minutes earlier.

Jude squeezed past a pair of people arguing over the aux cord.

"Excuse me, sorry. Cheers."

Someone recognised him and immediately broke into a grin.

"Jude! Finally, mate."

He returned the greeting with an easy smile, exchanging a few words before finding a relatively clear patch of counter.

He leaned back against it, listening to the conversation unfolding around him.

Someone was complaining about an assignment due on Monday.

Someone else was insisting they could finish an entire week's worth of work in one night.

A third person announced that they'd been saying exactly the same thing since October and still hadn't submitted their coursework.

Jude snorted into his drink.

"That's actually embarrassing."

"Nobody asked you, Bellingham."

"I'm just saying!"

"You haven't even done the assignment!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because you asked me for the notes yesterday!"

The kitchen burst into laughter.

Jude pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offence.

"Wow. Betrayal. In front of everyone as well."

"You're welcome."

He shook his head, smiling as he looked around the kitchen. A small group was attempting to squeeze through the doorway, negotiating the narrow space between the people gathered around the counter and those trying to get back into the living room.

Jude shifted to make room, turning slightly to let someone through. At almost the same moment, another person moved in the opposite direction.

The collision was brief, entirely accidental, and spectacularly unfortunate.

His arm knocked against theirs. The plastic cup tilted sharply, and before he could correct it, its contents spilled across the front of his sweatshirt and splashed onto the floor.

For a second, Jude simply stared down at himself.

"Ah, you're joking."

He pulled the damp fabric away from his chest, inspecting the damage with an expression of theatrical disbelief. A few droplets had landed on his trainers, too.

"Bro. I've had this on for, like, two hours."

The words came out more amused than annoyed, and he couldn't quite suppress the laugh that followed. It was hardly a disaster, even if his sweatshirt was now sporting a rather unfortunate stain.