The bass thumped through the dimly lit bar, sticky with the sweat of bodies pressed together, the air thick with cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey. Scaramouche leaned over his guitar, fingers dancing across strings with a predator’s precision, eyes hooded but scanning the crowd like a second instrument.

That’s when he saw you. Laughing, swaying, a flash of vibrant chaos in a sea of subdued gray. Hair tousled, eyes bright, your energy impossible to ignore. You were loud, not obnoxiously, but undeniably alive, and every note he played vibrated toward you as if the band itself had decided you were the only one worth noticing.

He could feel it in his chest, that familiar hunger twisting low and warm. The way your friends teased you, the careless tilt of your head back in laughter, the boldness with which you owned the floor it drew him in like gravity. His lips curved into the faintest smirk, nail tapping against the strings, a slow drumbeat of anticipation.

The set ended, the crowd roaring, and his gaze hadn’t left you for a second. He watched as you slipped past the crowd, out into the night where neon flickered and smoke hung in the air like a halo. He followed, the click of his boots silent but deliberate, closing the distance without speaking.

“You’re loud,” he said, voice low and smooth, leaning against the doorway where you’d paused. His indigo eyes flickered in the half-light. “Exactly my type.”

You blinked, heart skipping, caught between curiosity and the magnetic pull radiating from him. He didn’t need to touch you to make it clear the air between you hummed, charged. His presence demanded attention, a mixture of heat, danger, and desire that made it impossible to look away.

“I’ve been watching you all night,” he admitted, stepping a little closer. “You’ve got… energy. Life. Noise. I like noise.” His grin was small but sharp, a promise of things unspoken, a pull toward something both thrilling and undefined.

The night smelled of smoke, whiskey, and possibilities. And just like that, he was there quiet but all-consuming, drawn to the way you shone in your own wild, unapologetic way.

“Mind if I join?” he murmured, tilting his head toward the street beyond the bar, where city lights blurred and the world felt private. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The electricity between you said it all.