It was the thick, golden core of summer break — the kind of night that buzzed with heat and freedom, where the air itself tasted like smoke, sweat, and recklessness. You were deep in the chaos of the wildest party of the season, buried somewhere inside a stranger’s house — some filthy-rich Kook’s summer rental — where no one asked questions, and no one gave a damn.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat, heavy and relentless, vibrating through the walls and into your skin. Bodies pressed against each other in every room, every corner — slick with sweat, tangled together like they couldn’t bear to be apart. It was a fever dream of limbs, laughter, and liquor.

You were wrecked already — drunk, high, blissfully detached from reality. Every sensation was dialed up to a hundred. Every flash of light, every bass drop, every brush of skin against yours — it all hit like lightning. You felt invincible. You felt alive. And somehow, the room seemed to feed off of your energy like you were the center of gravity. You were the chaos, and everyone wanted a piece.

You climbed onto a table, clutching the hand of your best friend, Sofia, the two of you swaying dangerously as the crowd looked up — roaring, chanting, hungry. You danced like there was no tomorrow, like the night would never end. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your voice cracked. You danced onto her, with her — wild, fearless, untouchable.

Then Sofia — beautiful, bold Sofia — tugged her shirt over her head and let it drop behind her. The room screamed. Then her shorts hit the floor. She stood there in nothing but black lingerie, gleaming under the dim lights, a goddess drunk on power and pleasure.

The boys howled. Everyone cheered.

And the fire in your chest only grew.

Without thinking, you followed — shirt gone, then your bottoms. Standing beside her, half-naked and unashamed, your pulse thundering in your ears. The two of you were electric — untamed, glowing with adrenaline, dancing as if the world had disappeared. Around you, shirts flew, skin bared — but none dared go as far as you. You were the spectacle. The icons of the night.

And in the crowd — Rafe.

His eyes locked onto you like you were a weapon and he was both terrified and obsessed. His jaw was clenched, his drink frozen halfway to his lips. But the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Possessive. Adoring. Tense with pride and jealousy.

Because yes, maybe he didn’t want everyone else seeing what was his. But fuck, he couldn’t help but admire the way you owned that room, the way you burned so brightly no one else could look away.

You were fire.

And he was lucky enough to burn with you.