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Bass shakes the floor and travels up through Fumikage’s heels. His heart thunders in his chest, rocked by the band’s violent volume. The sensation pales in comparison to her effect on him, though.
She’s more intoxicating than the bassline, more captivating than the bridge, and the way she moves has Fumikage in a trance. Where the crowd jostles him, it parts for her. She weaves between bodies with ease, wafting through the scene like smoke.
Fumikage isn’t one to stare, but she demands attention. He’s never seen someone shine quite as brightly in a dingy warehouse packed with sweating bodies dancing to underground artists screaming their hearts out. Sure, the strobe lights are blinding, but they don’t hold a candle to the way she stuns him.
Loose strands of hair frame her cheeks, and her canines peek past her parted lips, glinting in the low light. Even from afar, Fumikage can tell she’s caked in glitter. Her skin catches the light and twinkles with her every movement. The effect is mesmerizing. He’s never been fond of glitter, but she’s giving him a reason to be.
As the current song fades and the crowd roars, he catches her eye. A wild grin splits her face, and she stalks toward him. Her approach is unavoidable—a typhoon headed straight for him. He can’t breathe, can’t look away.
She doesn’t seem to mind.
Fumikage finds it in himself to swallow. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he’s grateful that there’s little point in speaking. He’d have to scream to be heard over the band and the crowd. There’s little sense in conversing amid the concert’s chaos.
His new muse doesn’t seem to agree with the sentiment. When she reaches him, she presses onto her toes and leans into his space. Her blood-red lips find his ear, and a violent shudder rolls down his spine as she shouts her name just loud enough for him to hear.
“Name’s Himiko!”
She pulls back and grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze and tugging him toward the center of the warehouse. Without question, Fumikage allows her to lead him deeper into the throng of concert-goers.
He’s not sure why he follows her, other than the obvious: he’d be a fool not to.
Himiko’s hand is warm in his, her palm soft and only slightly sweaty. In sharp contrast, her knuckles are pink with fresh scars. His stomach flips. There’s so much he wants to know about this amber-eyed vixen that he’s only known for half of a song.
Deep in the writhing mass of people, Himiko turns on her heel and loops her arms around Fumikage’s neck. She shouts something he can’t hear, and he nods in response. Her Cheshire grin grows, and for half a breath, Fumikage is unsettled, though not enough to pull free of her grasp.
Bass still buzzing in his blood, he reaches for her hips. He doesn’t intend to pull her closer, but she surges forward at his touch, dancing against him in a way that leaves him breathless, lightheaded, and most certainly covered in glitter.
This close, he can smell her perfume, or maybe it’s her shampoo. The smell of pomegranates and citrus cut by an underlying current of copper wafts off her. Fumikage’s mouth waters, and tearing his gaze from her painted lips becomes an insurmountable task.
Dancing with Himiko feels like drifting through a nearly lucid dream. Fumikage has never felt less in control of his actions while awake. It’s as though she’s placed a dark spell over him, one so powerful that he can’t be bothered to mind.
Together, they lose track of time, their souls vibrating along with the pounding music. Fumikage’s trance doesn’t relent, especially when Himiko drags her fingers across the nape of his neck.
He even starts to forget his name. Hers is the only one worth remembering.
Between songs, Himiko stops dancing, her eyes ablaze with mischief and something molten. Again, she grabs Fumikage’s hand, but this time, she leads him away from the crowd, dragging him outside the warehouse.
A chill cuts through the evening air, sharper than the edge of a knife. Fumikage hardly notices. His heart is beating fit to burst as Himiko tugs him toward her, her back hitting an alley wall. To an outside eye, it would look as though he’s cornered her, but that simply isn’t true. He’s putty in her hands, whether she realizes it or not.
“You’re awfully cute,” she purrs, and finally, Fumikage can make out her voice. It’s saccharine and breathy, dangerously so.
“Kiss me!”
If Fumikage has never kissed anyone before, he’s not about to tell Himiko. Still, he blinks in shock before tentatively placing a hand on the wall beside her head and leaning forward, awkwardly and unsure of how to proceed.
Impatient, Himiko closes the gap between them. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, not when Himiko almost exclusively uses her teeth. Fumikage can’t find it in himself to mind, even as her canines graze his lower lip and he feels his skin tear.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he keeps one on the wall and fists the other at his side. Himiko has no such limitations. Her hands roam freely until she settles on gripping the front of his shirt.
When she finally pulls away, she runs her thumb along his bruised lips and grins.
“Say,” Himiko breathes, stealing Fumikage’s breath, “what’s your name?”
“Tokoyami.”
“To-ko-ya-mi.” She rolls his name around in her mouth like it’s a cherry stem she’s trying to knot with just her tongue. “Wanna go back and dance more?”
Fumikage’s head swims. He doesn’t know what he wants, past basking in Himiko’s blood-pumping presence.
In the end, he doesn’t get to decide.
“Himiko?” A brunette with pink cheeks peers into the alley, her brow scrunched and eyes narrowed. “Is that you?”
“Oh, yeah! Sorry, ‘chako!”
Fumikage’s trance is a hair’s breadth from ending, like a good dream cut short a moment too soon. His chest tightens in anticipation, a bittersweet pang of disappointment piercing his heart.
Himiko slides out of Fumikage’s arms and doesn’t bother straightening herself out. She makes as if to leave but turns sharply back toward him, her cheeks visibly flushed even in the alleyway.
“Hey, gimme your number, kay?”
Fumikage’s heart soars. He’d been certain her friend’s arrival was the midnight chime that would tear them apart. Of course, the future is uncertain, and he’s not fool enough to believe otherwise. Still, there’s a chance he’ll hear from Himiko again.
“Later, Tokoyami!” Himiko pops back onto her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek before skipping off to join her friend.
After she’s disappeared from view, Fumikage tilts his head back and lets out a slow sigh, releasing tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. Above him, the stars shine like glitter in the sky, reminding him of Himiko.
Waiting for her to call will be hell. Wondering if she’ll call at all will be worse. Fumikage suspects that Himiko is more of a social butterfly than not. Someone as vibrant and passionate as her won’t want to be tied down.
Nevertheless, he smiles—because she’s made an average summer night unforgettable. Over the years, he’s been to countless concerts, everything from mainstream to underground, indie, and everything in between. Through it all, though, he’s only crossed paths with someone as sublime as Himiko once.