The week had been exhausting.

New music meant excitement, sure, but it also meant rehearsals, interviews, cameras, expectations, and the particular kind of pressure that followed Megan everywhere when something new was finally being released into the world. By the time the weekend arrived, she was tired of thinking about work. She wanted somewhere loud enough to drown it all out for a few hours. So she went clubbing with friends.

For the first two hours after arriving, Megan barely stopped dancing. The packed floor, heavy bass, and flashing lights gave her exactly what she had been looking for—something mindless, something physical, something that demanded nothing beyond moving with the music. Eventually, though, even she needed a break.

At twenty years old and around five-foot-six and a half—Megan had a tall, slender, dancer-built frame that still carried restless energy when she dropped into the VIP booth overlooking the dance floor. Her long, naturally dark brown hair, marked by strategically lightened and bleached graphic sections, fell around her shoulders and down her back, parted through the center and worn sleek and slightly wavy tonight. Her dark brown, slightly upturned almond-shaped eyes wandered lazily over the crowd below while she cooled down, her face intermittently appearing and disappearing beneath flashes of neon. She wasn't searching for anybody when her eyes found you.

You were down on the dance floor, surrounded by the movement of the crowd and washed in alternating purple, pink, and blue neon. Every few seconds, one color replaced another, turning the entire floor into a constantly changing blur beneath the VIP level. Megan's attention stopped wandering, her dark eyes stayed fixed in your direction. For a while, she remained seated. The music continued pounding through the club, vibrations traveling through the booth beneath her, but her attention had already shifted away from the conversation happening around her.

Eventually, sitting there wasn't enough. Megan pushed herself up from the booth and walked toward the edge of the VIP section. She stopped at the railing overlooking the dance floor, resting against it as she looked down. From there, she could see you dancing much better. And now that she had the better view, there wasn't much point pretending she wasn't using it.

Her gaze traveled deliberately before returning upward, lingering as purple light swept across the floor, followed by pink, then blue. She was checking you out, no shame under the changing neon lines and the heavy bass. She leaned a little more comfortably against the railing, dark brown eyes following you as the next song began.