🗸 the quintessences of cherry & cigarette

4.5: effervescence

They walk in silence, alongside one another. As Cerise fidgets with the strap of her satchel, Devin focuses on keeping his hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie - lest the urge to take her hand overpower his best judgement. A fifteen-minute trek later, they reach the Jeffersonville Square Main Road, continuing along which for another five minutes, Devin leads Cerise down the East Branch.

As they draw nearer to the shady seeming, deviant corner of the town, Devin hears Cerise nervously speak. "Um, Devin," she says, voice lowered to almost a hush, "are you sure this is the way?"

Screw his best judgement. Unable to restrain himself anymore, Devin reaches out and grabs hold of her hand, pulling her into stride with his pace. "Do you not trust me, Cherry?" As soon as the query leaves his mouth, he regrets it, pretty sure that it is too soon in their camaraderie for such questions. And after what he put Cerise through, to ask for her trust feels like a white-collar crime.

However, Cerise mumbles, "I do," and it swells his heart. He didn't expect that answer from her - he didn't really expect an answer at all.

"Good," he says as he squeezes her small hand in reassurance, quite liking the feel of her softness in his grip. It leads him to ponder on how all of her will feel in his arms. Lips on lips, skin on skin, butterfly kisses, uncertain caresses... an elegy to innocence, an ode to passion - quickly, he breaks himself out of the blandishments of his imagination. Yet, the cursed, libidinous thoughts don't seem to cease their assaults. Devin gently slips his hand out of the loose grip of Cerise's fingers, shoving it back into his pocket. "Jesus, it's cold as fuck," he mutters as an excuse.

Luckily, they reach their destination very soon. Devin pauses before the dingy entrance, letting Cerise survey the neon sign that blinks the words 'The Underworld' in bright red. Muffled music pounds through, slightly shaking the door. Looking down at her wide-eyed expression, he asks, "have you ever been to a club?"

Cerise shakes her head in denial. "No."

"Do you want to go to a club?"

A minute of contemplation later, "yes."

"Are you sure? You don't have to..."

Finally tearing her stare from the club's sign, she pins him with her dark gaze. "Are there going to be strippers and drugs?"

The honest, deadpan question takes Devin by surprise, but he doesn't let it show. With a nonchalant shrug, he looks away from her and at The Underworld's door, and replies, "drugs, yes. Strippers, no--it's not that kind of a club."

Cerise stays quiet for so long that Devin starts expecting her refusal. Then, she surprises him yet again. "Let's not stand out here like hobos," she says, "I wanna see what it's like in there."

With that, she steps forward and pushes the door open to let out a blast of EDM beats. Devin follows her inside, and they're both welcomed into the open arms of aesthetic darkness pierced by the plasmic bolts of strobelights. He almost runs into her when she stops suddenly at the entrance foyer, still as a statue. Going around to stand in front of her, he sees that she is staring at the crowd letting loose, transfixed by the mass of bodies that move, undulate, ripple across the dance floor - a human maelstorm.

"Are you okay?" Devin yells over the pounding music.

Cerise's eyes flick to his, then back to The Underworld's interior; she nods. He takes her hand again, and slowly walking backwards, he pulls her further into the engulfing throng of dancing people. Once, he wonders if she will dance with him, but he dismisses the idea; there are way too many humans in too close proximity on the floor - disgusting. Instead, he takes her along to the bar that lines the inner end of the club.