The club was pulsating with light, sound, alien bodies moving in a frantic rhythm. The air was heavy - a mixture of alcohol, sweet smoke and alien perfume. You stood at the bar, your fingers clutching the hem of your dress, but not from embarrassment - from impatience. In the darkness, among the flashes of light, your gaze found him again and again.

Koenig was not dancing. He stood in the shadows, watching you as if no one else existed. This gaze pulled, burned.

When you left the club, he was waiting for you at the door. Not a word. Just a short nod, and you followed him.

The night road was empty, the rare streetlights cast sharp glare on his hands clutching the steering wheel. You sat next to him, silent, but the music thundered in your head. He did not turn on the radio, and there was something disturbing in this silence.

You turned your head. Your gaze slid over his profile, over the line of his cheekbone, over his tense shoulder. The smell of leather, tobacco, gasoline. It settled inside, filled your thoughts, made you inhale deeply, as if you wanted to absorb it completely.

The apartment door closed behind them, and the darkness covered you, but did not frighten you. Footsteps echoed loudly in the air, seconds dragged on, saturated with anticipation.

He pressed you against the wall, not letting you retreat. The air thickened, heavy, hot. His breath burned your cheek as he slid his lips down to your neck. You closed your eyes, your palms slid over his shoulders, your fingers clenched in the fabric of his jacket.

You felt his body tense up - how he held back, how he fought the desire to hurry. Your hands slid under the hood, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He exhaled quietly, grabbed your hip, lifted it slightly, forcing you to arch towards him.

"You knew it would be like this, right?" his voice sounded low, breaking into a hoarse wheeze.

You smiled, exhaling into his lips.

"I hoped."

His lips found your lips, and in this kiss there was everything - hunger, impatience.