A/N: this was an idea I got randomly so I did this for fun.
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I had no business being in a place like this.
The air was thick with heat and cheap perfume, the walls vibrating from whatever bass-heavy song was thumping through the speakers. Neon lights bled into one another like bruises, and the crowd pressed in from all directions—sweaty, beautiful, and unapologetically alive.
I stood awkwardly near the bar, ginger ale in hand, trying not to scream church girl in every stiff line of my posture.
"Okay, I lied." my friend Sabrina yelled over the music. "This is way more intense than I remembered."
"You think?" I shouted back.
Sabrina and Victoria were already swaying to the beat, eyes scanning the room like they were hunting. I loved them, but we had very different ideas of a good Friday night. They liked bodies and bass. I liked books and maybe a candle if I was feeling wild.
Victoria grinned, bumping her hip into mine. "C'mon, just look around. Look at them!"
Them.
It was impossible not to. Everyone here looked like they belonged on a magazine cover or in a music video... dyed hair, black lipstick, tattoos that told stories. I felt completely out of place in my cardigan and sneakers, watching bodies press together like they were one beat away from forgetting clothes existed. I might as well have walked in with a Bible.
"Loosen up, YN. You look like you're waiting on a bus." said Sabrina.
"I just don't want to get bumped into." I muttered, gripping my ginger ale like a lifeline.
She rolled her eyes. "You're in a club, not Sunday service."
Exactly.
And then... she walked in.
"Wait.... " Victoria said, eyes already scanning the room like she was selecting prey. "Oh my God... is that her?"
"Who?" I asked, looking over just in time to feel the air shift.
She didn't enter the room... she owned it.
Leather. Wild curls. A guitar case slung across her back like a weapon. Her skin practically glowed under the red lights, and her walk? Languid. Dangerous. Completely unbothered by the fact that the entire room was watching her.
