Well, at least they’re cheap!
It takes a good twenty minutes for you to get served, but at least Ziros makes a great physical barrier to keep the surging crowd from smashing you while you wait for the bartender.
You and Ziros take your questionable-looking drinks (they’re so brightly colored, they’re probably 90% food coloring, yikes), and carry them over to the dance floor.
You’d take them to a table, but the tables are already packed.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
But you know, you’ve already got your drinks. Sunk-cost fallacy and all.
“I think I see what you mean,” Ziros says in your ear, making you jump—nearly spilling your drink.
But talking directly in your ear is the only way you can hear him over the thudding of the bass.
“What?” you ask, trying to see what he’s talking about.
He takes your jaw, catching you by surprise as he turns your head. And—ah, yep. There’s a couple dancing so vigorously that if they weren’t wearing their clothing, well—
You laugh, not that Ziros can hear you. Or can he?
It’s hard to say how good his hearing might really be.
And he looks amused by this entire endeavor.
“Humans,” he mutters, shaking his head as he takes a long sip of his toxic-colored drink. Leaning close to your ear again, he asks, “You brought me here to dance like that? You know…we could just do that at home.”
You nearly spit out your drink.
And man, despite it being cheap, for some reason you’re really starting to feel it.
Maybe because you haven’t actually had dinner yet.
Ziros, of course, appears completely unaffected.
“You can’t just say stuff like that so casually,” you say, blushing.
“Why?” He smirks, catching your jaw again with one hand, turning your head toward him as he moves closer behind you. Pressing closer still, until all you until all you can feel is the heat of his body against yours.
And then he leans in, his lips brushing yours in the dark club, the neon lights flashing overhead.
His eyes lock with yours, deep, drowning blue staring back at you before he lets go of jaw, pulling back.
You’re expecting him to stop.
To pull away completely.
But he doesn’t.
He catches the small of your back, turning you back to face him. Pressing you against him. Watching you with eyes wide open as he kisses you fully now, harder. And you’re pretty sure people around you are looking, but you don’t care, can’t care.
And then—
You stumble, dropping to your knees as a wave of dizziness washes over you.
Oh, no.
It’s the drink.
