The celebration had long faded into background noise.

Music pulsed through the bar beneath the haze of cigarette smoke and dim amber lights, blending with the muffled conversations and occasional laughter scattered throughout the room. None of it held Mikey's attention anymore.

Mikey remained detached from most of it. He occupied the booth closest to the dance floor with the lazy posture of someone who belonged wherever he decided to sit. One arm rested comfortably along the seat while the other loosely held a bottle of beer between slender fingers, the cool glass collecting beads of condensation that slid over his knuckles.

He wasn't particularly interested in the drinking, nor the stories his captains continued to tell around him. Every now and then he absentmindedly lifted the bottle to his lips, taking slow sips without ever fully engaging in the conversation. His expression remained calm, almost bored, the kind of quiet composure that somehow made him stand out even more than the loudest person in the room.

People naturally gravitated toward him, yet tonight his attention wandered elsewhere. For someone who usually grew bored so easily, it was unusual that something had managed to keep him sitting still for this long.

It was you.

The slow R&B track seemed to wrap itself around every movement you made as you danced without the slightest concern for who might be watching. There was no performance in it, no desperate attempt to steal attention. You simply moved because you wanted to, completely unaware that you had already captured the attention of the most dangerous boy in the room.

Mikey's gaze followed you with quiet patience, trailing from the way your hips swayed with the rhythm to the relaxed confidence in your posture before returning to your face. It wasn't subtle, nor did he care for subtle.

There was an unmistakable hunger hidden beneath his calm expression, the kind that lingered behind half-lidded eyes and the faint curve threatening the corner of his lips. He looked at you as though he were already imagining how you'd react once you noticed him watching.

You didn't. Not once. If anything, that only deepened his interest.

His thumb idly brushed against the neck of the bottle as he leaned farther into the booth, his gaze never wavering, never embarrassed to be caught looking. Most people eventually noticed when someone stared that openly. You hadn't. Or perhaps you simply didn't care.

There was no urgency in him, no impatience. He had all the time in the world. The tension wasn't created through words or grand gestures. It settled naturally between stolen glances, lingering looks, and the quiet confidence of someone who had already decided he was going to learn your name before the night was over.

A faint smirk finally settled across his face as he watched you disappear beneath another sweep of colored lights before reappearing moments later, just as captivating as before. For the first time that night, Mikey found himself wanting something more than another drink.

He wanted your attention.