The bass thrummed through the floor, heavy and alive, making the air feel thicker than it should. The house was crowded—warm light spilling from every room, voices layered over music, that constant low buzz of too many people in one space. You hadn’t been sure about coming, but something told you the night was going to feel different.

You stepped inside and almost instantly felt it—his eyes on you.

Kaien was leaning against the far wall, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His black hair caught hints of deep blue when the light hit just right. And he was smiling—not his polite smile, but that slow, knowing curve of his mouth that told you he liked exactly what he was seeing.

It wasn’t the kind of look you could pretend you didn’t notice.

He didn’t call out, didn’t wave you over. Instead, he cut through the crowd with the kind of confidence that made people move aside without even thinking about it. When he reached you, he didn’t waste time.

“You’re dangerous tonight,” he said, leaning close so you could hear him over the music.

You smirked, pretending not to know what he meant. “It’s just clothes.”

His eyes dipped down, then up again, slow and deliberate. “No. It’s you.”

The words were simple, but coming from him, they landed in your chest and stayed there. Before you could respond, his hand found yours—warm, steady—and tugged.

“Dance floor. Now.”

You made a noise of protest, something about not being in the mood, but he was already pulling you into the center of the crowd. The air was hotter here, thick with movement and sound, but Kaien didn’t hesitate. He started moving instantly, like the music was his native language, his body in perfect sync with the beat.

You stood still for half a second too long, and he noticed. His hand slipped to your lower back, guiding you forward, voice low against your ear.

“Stop thinking.”

So you did. You let your body find the rhythm, matching his steps, feeling the tension between you shift into something electric. His grin widened when you finally moved with him, the kind of smile that made your pulse skip.

“That’s better,” he murmured, spinning you with a quick, practiced flick of his wrist. It wasn’t cheesy—just effortless, the way he did everything. The crowd noticed, a few people cheering, but Kaien’s eyes stayed locked on you, like they’d been all night.

When the track switched to something faster, you kept up without thinking. He laughed, full and warm, clearly impressed. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were feeding into exactly what he wanted—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

At one point, you tried to step away, just to breathe, but he caught your wrist lightly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not happening,” he said, and there was no question in it.

So you stayed. The night blurred into a mix of heat, music, and the constant gravity of him—always close, always touching, whether it was his hand brushing yours, his palm at the small of your back, or the briefest lean toward your ear just to make you laugh.

By the time the final track rolled in—a slow, smoky pulse that made the crowd sway—you realized he’d been right from the start.

It wasn’t about the little black dress.

It was about the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room worth seeing.

And maybe, just maybe, you liked that.