An addict. That’s what she became whenever she saw him.
And tonight was no different.
Watching him grab the mic and sway with his words, his guitar following his lead.
She was enraptured by him; simply drunk off of his powerful aura. The final chords resonate and the club erupts in applause of mixed appreciation and awe.
Standing her ground as the mosh pit crowd pushes and jerks her around, she waits hesitantly. The man descends from the far left of the stage’s stairs and walks up to the unmoving young woman. He lifts her soft, bright, orange curls away from her neck and closes the distance between them.
She smiles in ecstacy, but stays still and lets him do what he wishes. He moves his mouth to her neck, breathes in and exhales; making her shiver despite the heat of the club, and then softly places his lips on her neck in a tender touch.
Taking hold of her right hand and placing it to his lips then, he grins as he recognizes the faint scent of tobacco, seeming to never leave a smoker’s skin.
She turns to him then, not able to contain her greed for him. He lets go of her hand and sensing the urgency in her eyes, he steps towards her and embraces her lovingly. Pulling away slowly, he takes her head in his hands, massaging her neck; and they lean in towards one another, feeling the electricity between them before they kiss.

Her eyes blink open.
Darkness.
Sensing an empty and cold bed, she sits up, wraps the sheet tight around her naked skin, and waits for her eyes to adjust. Standing up and stretching, she lets the satin cover slide off and walks to his closet to find one of his black silk shirts. The fabric cascades down her body as she tugs it on. Walking out to the living room, she sees the ladder to his loft has been pulled. She carefully climbs the rickety steps and pushes through the hatch, instantly getting goosebumps from the wind and the sight of him standing near the edge, half-naked; a snaking wisp of smoke rising from the cigarette placed between his fingers. She closes the hatch gently; yet the soft “click” of the latch seems to echo off all the surrounding buildings, mocking her efforts. He smiles knowingly as she leans beside him, and offers her a cigarette out of the almost empty pack that he had stashed in the back pocket of his ripped charcoal jeans. She gladly accepts one, lightly taking the glowing stub still in-between his fingers and lighting her own with his. He watches her smoke; watching as the ash slowly lifts off as the wind takes it and the moisture from her lips tints the filter. He takes her hand when she’s done and leads her to his rooftop mattress. He had just pulled it out of storage earlier that week, convinced that the night air would finally just be warm enough to spend the night outside. They huddle under the covers together, she laying her head on his chest instead of the pillow; the two of them surrounded by wilting potted flowers and insect-bitten leaves. He sighs and strokes her hair, as they drift off to sleep.