The gym-party is doing its best impression of a real club — neon lights flickering, music rattling the entire building, people dancing like they’re actually made of electricity. You’re tall, drunk AF, leaning on the bar like it’s your emotional support wall.

Black T-shirt. Messy hair. Eyes half-lidded. Just vibing. Just existing.

Then she appears.

Shorter girl, stupidly pretty, that dangerous little smirk like she’s here for fun and trouble. She spots you standing alone, tall and spaced out, and something lights up in her eyes.

She steps right in front of you, chin tilted up.

“Hey,” she says, that playful tone cutting through the bass. “You here alone?”

You nod. Slow. Very slow.

She giggles. “Cute. So… your number?”

You shake your head, stubborn, drunk. “No…”

She blinks. “No? Just like that?”

You shrug, mumbling, “I don’t give my number like that…”

She studies you, a soft, amused smile spreading across her lips like she knows exactly what you need.

Then she steps closer.

Reaches up. Grabs your shirt between two fingers, pulls you slightly forward so you’re actually looking down at her.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Look at me.”

You look.

She puts her hand on your chest — right over your heart — and with one fingertip… She draws a small, imaginary heart across your shirt.

Slow. Precise. Charming as hell.

Your brain? Gone. Offline. Error 404: Thoughts Not Found.

You just stare at her. Too long. Like you’re trying to force your neurons to reboot.

She notices.

She smirks.

Then gently takes her phone out of your frozen hand.

“Wow,” she says with a little laugh, “I broke you, didn’t I?”

Before you can even blink —

She lifts her hand. Kisses the tip of her finger. Soft. Warm. Playful.

Then she reaches up (because you’re taller) and places that kiss on your lips.

Light. Quick. But enough to end you spiritually.

Your knees almost fail the assignment.

She leans back, eyes sparkling with that wicked confidence.

“Cute boy… next time don’t make me work so hard,” she teases.

You’re literally just standing there, heart doing parkour, brain sliding off the table.

She taps her phone, shows you what she typed.

“Already saved your number. Don’t worry.”

You mumble, flustered beyond salvation:

“…that’s cheating…”

She laughs under her breath as she steps away into the crowd.

“No, babe,” she calls back over her shoulder. “That’s just how I win.”

And you’re left there, tall, drunk, lips tingling, absolutely destroyed by a girl half your height.

You don’t speak. You don’t move. You just… slowly sink. And when she disappears completely into the crowd, you’re on your knees, drunk, heart racing, brain fried, utterly annihilated.