Wild

It smells of nite and expensive smoke. Everything is moving as if on its own - the bass is pounding in my chest, the lights are pulsing, and the air is thick, as if you could drink it. People dissolve into the rhythm, but one person always shines a little brighter than the rest. Not from the spotlight, but from an inner heat - the kind that pulls and burns at the same time. There's an attraction around us, almost electric. Every glance is a challenge, every smile is a game without rules. She wants the impossible, he's as cold as ice in a glass, and that only fuels the excitement even more. There's no room for feelings in this encounter - only impulse, movement, and a short "snap" of fingers, after which the world goes mad.