Titania’s POV
The club’s speakers pulsed with music, a rhythmic force that thrummed in my bones. It wasn’t just sound—it was sensation. Every beat curled through my limbs, pulling me deeper into the tide of bodies moving around me. The air was thick, heavy with heat and sweat and energy. It clung to my skin like something alive.
A hand—confident, sure—grabbed my hips. Not rough, not unwelcome. Just enough pressure to say I’m here. Dance with me.
A shiver bolted down my spine as I let the music guide me, my body responding before my brain could catch up. We moved in sync, no words, no names. Just breath and touch and the pulse of the night.
His breath ghosted over my neck, hot and urgent, sending sparks flickering beneath my skin. The song's lyrics whispered promises in my ear, each word fanning the flames already licking at the edge of reason. His lips—soft, insistent—brushed my neck, and a sharp inhale escaped me.
That single touch sent a ripple through me, a delicious jolt that made me turn in his arms. I had to see him. I needed to know who this was, this stranger who made the world melt away in seconds. Our eyes locked, and for a breathless moment, the crowd didn’t matter.
We moved like we already knew each other, like this wasn’t the first time we’d met in a haze of light and sound. When his lips crashed into mine, it was with a hunger that mirrored my own—a wild, reckless kiss that tasted like alcohol and danger. My fingers tangled in his shirt, his hands mapped the curves of my body like he was memorizing them.
I let him in, tongue and teeth and all-consuming heat, until I was the one teasing—biting, nipping, pushing back. Every sound he made lit me up inside, every touch another spark. We were fire and fuel, devouring the moment with every kiss.
The music wrapped around us, our breaths tangled, our bodies pressed close. It was chaos and control, lust and curiosity. I could’ve stayed there forever, in that tiny bubble of heat and heartbeat—
Until Lucy’s voice stabbed through the haze like a knife.
“Titania!”
Just like that, the spell shattered. I pulled back, breathless, lips swollen, mind spinning. “What’s going on, Lucy?” I asked, my voice tinged with the sharp edge of disappointment.
“Josh got into a fight. We need to leave now.”
Of course he did.
I sighed, the high fading as reality shoved its way back in. Josh always knew how to ruin a good time. We gathered our friends and made for the exit, laughter and light dimming behind us as we moved through the crowd.
Pete tried to shake the mood. “It’s always the other guy’s fault,” he joked, and we laughed, a little reluctantly.
Then Mindy, in all her drunken glory, perked up. “OMG, look at that pineapple; let’s go meet SpongeBob!” Her breath reeked of vodka and fruit punch, but her excitement was contagious.
Clark snorted. “I swear this girl is obsessed with SpongeBob when she’s drunk.”
The bar’s lighting dimmed everything to a dreamlike glow, casting us all in soft shadows and laughter. Pete squinted around. “Where’d she go?”
I pointed. “There.”
We followed Mindy’s not-so-graceful path across the room, our own steps weaving like a crooked line on a map. My chest buzzed with leftover adrenaline—some from the kiss, some from the chaos.
And there she was. Standing like some deranged culinary goddess, a knife in one hand and a pineapple in the other.
Lucy gasped. “Where’d you get the knife from?”
Mindy just giggled, hacking at the pineapple like it was a piñata and she had a vendetta. Her voice slurred into some weird remix of the SpongeBob theme, and we were gone—completely undone by the absurdity.
Then the bartender appeared. And yeah... not amused.
His glare hit us like cold water, and I froze for half a second. Were we about to get kicked out?
Pete leaned in, voice low. “Alright, let’s get out of here. We’ve got school tomorrow.”
Ugh. Right.
We groaned but followed, stumbling into the night with tired smiles and minds still buzzing. Despite everything—Josh’s fight, pineapple c*****e, potential arrest—the night had its magic.
Pete stayed mostly sober, the unspoken chaperone of the group. As we piled into his car, the music in my head still played, the bassline of the night echoing in my chest.
We reached his house, the porch light spilling a soft welcome over us. We tried to be quiet... really tried. But the door slammed behind us like it had a vendetta. Oops.
We all froze, then burst into a mess of “shhh” and giggles, tiptoeing to the basement like fugitives.
The basement was a haven. Bean bags. Couches. Soft, familiar chaos. Someone lit the fairy lights strung across the ceiling beams, casting us all in a sleepy glow. The air smelled like old popcorn and laundry detergent—weirdly comforting.
We collapsed into the furniture like we belonged there. Because we did.
Laughter floated through the air one last time as we settled in, our bodies sinking into the cushions, tangled up in each other’s limbs and sleepy breath. Someone passed around a half-eaten bag of chips, and Clark made some offhand comment about Pete’s pillows smelling like his grandma’s house. No one questioned it.
The buzz was fading now. Just warmth. Just the comfort of friends and the softness of a shared memory.
The couch held me close, and the room dimmed.
Sleep took me gently, the rise and fall of my friends’ breathing like a lullaby.
Warm blankets. Safe space. The afterglow of a night that didn’t go as planned but still...
Still mattered.
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