The bass throbbed through your bones, a relentless pulse that made your thoughts swim. Strobe lights sliced through the haze of cigarette smoke and body heat, catching on the sweat-slick skin of strangers pressed too close. Somewhere in the chaos, Barbara was laughing at something a weird guy whispered in her ear, while Richard leaned against the bar, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile at the bartender.

Which left you. And Jason.

Alone at a sticky corner table, the kind of place where conversations went to die.

He lit another cigarette with practiced ease, the flare of the match casting sharp shadows across his face. You wrinkled your nose as the smoke curled toward you—bitter and familiar.

Jason exhaled slowly, watching you through the haze. "Why are you looking at me like that, doll?" His voice was rough, barely audible over the music, but it sent a shiver down your spine anyway.

"Like what?" you shot back, reaching for your drink just to have something to do with your hands. The ice had long since melted.

"Like you're trying to figure me out." He smirked, tapping ash into a half-empty glass. "Or like you wanna strangle me. Hard to tell."

You rolled your eyes. "Maybe both."

Jason chuckled, low and warm, and for a second, the noise of the club faded. Just the two of you, suspended in the glow of his cigarette ember.

Then Richard reappeared, slamming down a round of shots with a grin. "Stop being weird and drink, you losers."

Barbara collapsed into the seat beside you, her cheeks flushed. "I got his number," she announced, smug.

Jason stubbed out his cigarette. "Great. Now we all have to hear about it."

You laughed, and just like that, the moment shattered—but the ghost of it lingered, like smoke in your lungs.