The warmth hit you like a tidal wave as you left the rainy night behind and crossed the threshold into the diner. The change in temperature instantly made you feel humid and sticky underneath your leather jacket. You peeled off your coat, only slightly worried that you might be revealing unflattering pit stains or back sweat - given that you had hustled through the rain to get here.
You scanned the room, looking for the familiar face you were here to meet, searching for it hidden somewhere in the booths and, to your awe, you didn't see him. There was no way he was late, because he was always on time, and you were always twenty-minutes behind.
You shook out your coat and did your best to fluff your hair with your free hand in hopes it would smooth back into whatever mess it was before the elements had influenced it. You looked over the room a second time.
There he was! Or at least the back of his head. But it was him for sure. You could recognize his long, black, thick hair which he never changed, the peak of his back tattoo just below his neck, and his broad shoulders hidden but present under his white shirt. The way he hunched slightly over the table was recognizable too. You were positive he was sketching in his book, the way he usually was, while his free hand played idly with a string of twine in some impressive version of one-handed cats cradle.
You watched for a moment, his long, slender fingers twirling and lacing between the string, dexterous and with purpose as they built a web then just as quickly dismantled it before starting again. Even though you had seen him do this same menial trick time and time again, you couldn't tear your eyes from it. Not today. Today, it was like a spell, hypnotizing you. It was like the more you watched, the more you were sure you could feel those fingers on you, his hand moving across you and through you as if you were the piece of string.
"Bar or booth?" the words shook you from your trance. You looked up to find yourself staring at a waitress. She was around your age. Pretty, but an unfriendly look behind her eyes. Perhaps she was only tired from a long shift.
I would be too, you thought to yourself. Dealing with hungry people for hours, running around on your feet in a ridiculous dress like that... you would face off in a battle to the death with a demon any day, rather than walk one in her shoes.
Your thoughts trailed off as you came to focus on her dress. It was ridiculous. Mustard yellow, trimmed with pilon orange, reminiscent of a 50s theme except without the impudence to commit to it. But, damn, even though Lucifer had cursed the earth with polyester fabric, it wasn't enough to protect you from the curve of this woman's hips, the cleavage of her breasts, and the smooth shine of her long, tapered legs. You bit your lip as a vision clouded your mind: you and her, behind this diner; her sandwiched between your body and the wet brick of the building as you kneaded her breast roughly with your palm; her enthusiastically digging at your jeans tight and sticky against your skin in the wet rain.
For a longer-than-needed moment you looked at her as the vision came and left, and as the blood from your groin rushed and calmed. But somewhere in the moment you had taken, her aura shifted - from one of impatience, to one of... intrigue? Would she? Right now? If you only asked?
"I'm meeting someone," you cut off your own thoughts before you began to actually believe them. If you ever endeavored on your first girl-on-girl encounter, you would at least like it to be when neither of you were being influenced by the absurd thing swirling inside you. "I think he's over there," you nodded in the direction of Yoongi. She looked a little disappointed. You were kinda disappointed too, but with a small smile and a thank-you nod, you clomped your way down the aisle in his direction. By the time you reached the booth, you were relieved to also feel this episode's strangling wave of lust fade away.
