You swallow and cast your eyes to the bathroom door. He smiles again, knowingly, before turning on his heel.
He doesnt look back; this isnt his first time. And it certainly isnt yours. The hallway to the bathrooms is narrower than you remember. Quieter, too. The music from the dance floor becomes muffled, like a heartbeat heard through a wall. Red EXIT light hums above you, bathing everything in a false martyrs glow.
Up close, you notice the details: the faint stubble along his jaw, his warm green eyes tracing your skin, the pulse fluttering in his throat, the sheen of sweat at his temple. He smells like cologne layered over something warmer. Alive.
He pushes open the bathroom door.
Inside, the lighting is harsher. Mirrors line the wall above porcelain sinks. Everything is too bright, too honest. A man adjusts his hair and slips out past you, giving the two of you a knowing glance before disappearing back toward the music. HE KNOWS. The silver feels like a weight against your chest.
Now its just the two of you.
The hum of fluorescent lights. The distant thud of bass. The quiet rush of blood in your ears. He steps closer. Not touching. Not yet.
Ive seen you here before, he says, his eyes flitting from your face to your lips. It makes your head spin. You dont reply, just stay still as your eyes drift to his throat again. To the fragile architecture beneath skin.
You imagine laying your hand there, not in violence, but in benediction. You press your palm to the cool marble sink instead.
The air tightens as he crowds against you. Your hunger rises at the feel of him. Predator and prey. You swallow before letting it all, for a moment, fade away.