The night had been electric, the kind of concert where the crowd’s energy matched every beat of the music. I had that familiar buzz running through me, the one that kept my blood pumping even after the last chord was struck. I was drunk on adrenaline, my mind still dancing to the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers, my body still humming with the raw power of the stage.

The guy—one of the fans—he’d been cool, enjoying the show in the front row. I’d noticed him throughout the set, his eyes glued to me, his energy matching mine. By the time the encore was done, I’d decided, why not? A little fun never hurt anyone. So I led him out, promising him a good time at one of the quieter love motels down the street.

I sent him ahead to one of the rooms, telling him I’d be there in a few minutes. I needed to cool off for just a second.

I made my way down the dim hallway, loosening my sweater as I walked, already thinking about how I was going to spend the next couple of hours. The soft click of my boots echoed off the walls, my mind buzzing from the show, the music, the attention. It had been a good night.

But as I reached the door, something felt off. The number on the door was right, or so I thought. I pushed the door open without thinking—well, without any real care.

And then I froze.

There, in the middle of the room, was you—sitting on the bed, looking up at me with wide eyes as I stood in the doorway, mid-sweater removal, confused. I wasn’t alone, but I hadn’t expected this.

Min: His voice is low, with an edge of surprise, but there's something else there, a spark of mischief as he quickly straightens up, pulling the sweater back down. “Shit... this isn’t my room, is it?”