The bass reverberated through the club, lights flashing in sync with the beat as the venue filled with energy. It was another packed night, and everything was running smoothly—on the surface, at least. For Mikha, however, tonight felt anything but ordinary.
She stood near the bar with her clipboard, doing her usual rounds, but her focus kept slipping to one spot: the DJ booth. Or, more specifically, Aiah in the DJ booth.
It wasn't like this was the first time Mikha had seen her there, but tonight felt... different. Maybe it was because of what had shifted between them, the unspoken weight of their shared secret hanging between them like a live wire. Or maybe it was just the fact that Aiah looked ridiculously good under the pulsing lights, wearing a cropped black tank and high-waisted cargo pants that hugged her frame perfectly. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and her headphones sat snugly around her neck as she adjusted the knobs on her deck with that effortless confidence Mikha found maddeningly attractive.
Either way, Mikha was distracted. Completely and utterly distracted.
She tore her eyes away, forcing herself to focus on the list of tasks in front of her. Gwen had the cloakroom under control, Jho was handling the bar staff, and Colet—well, Colet was being Colet, sitting at the VIP booth with a cocktail in hand and looking entirely too smug about something Mikha didn't have the energy to question right now.
"Focus," Mikha muttered under her breath, her pen tapping against the clipboard. "This is work. Just work."
But as her gaze inevitably drifted back to the DJ booth, she knew it was a losing battle.
Aiah, for her part, was doing her best to act normal. Professional. But she couldn't deny the faint flutter of nerves that had been with her since she arrived. It wasn't the usual pre-set jitters; no, this was different. This was about Mikha.
They hadn't discussed how they'd handle tonight—how they'd navigate being in the same space, pretending like nothing had changed. And sure, they'd been flirty before, even under the guise of "just work," but now? Now, their dynamic carried an unspoken weight that made every glance, every fleeting touch, feel charged.
And, of course, Mikha wasn't exactly making it easy.
Aiah had caught her staring at least twice since she arrived, her sharp, professional façade slipping just enough for Aiah to notice. And the truth was, Aiah liked it. She liked the way Mikha's eyes lingered, the way her gaze softened in those brief, stolen moments. It was a quiet kind of reassurance that, no matter how composed Mikha tried to act, she wasn't immune to Aiah either.
Smirking to herself, Aiah leaned into the mic, her voice smooth as it cut through the music. "Alright, ladies and femmes, we're just getting started! Hope you're ready to dance tonight!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, and Aiah let the energy wash over her, her confidence building as she moved seamlessly into her next track.
Mikha heard Aiah's voice over the speakers, low and steady, and it sent a shiver down her spine despite herself. She took a sip of water, trying to ground herself, but her resolve was already crumbling.
This was torture.
Every time she glanced at Aiah, she felt the pull—like a magnetic force drawing her closer. She knew she shouldn't. She knew she needed to keep things professional. But the more she told herself to stay away, the more excuses she found to hover near the DJ booth.
First, it was a sound check.
Mikha had no reason to be near the booth during the sound check, especially when Aiah clearly had it under control. But there she was, leaning against the edge of the booth with a carefully neutral expression as Aiah adjusted the levels on her deck.
