A nightclub wasn't his place; boys needed a release and well... Lucious drinks, cigarettes, drunken thoughts. the colours of the dance floor faded in one by one, nothing seemed more desirable than you.

The way you danced in every colour, so innocent in blue, irresistible in red, you seemed too young, out of this cruel world, free.

it was wrong, yet he risks it when you step to fresh, "a drink, doll?" his voice calm, mesmerizing accent. it's wrong, and he blames the drinks and smokes.