She's on the dance floor, arms hanging loosely by her sides. Her hips are swaying lazily to the melody, hard pops at the beat. She's lost to the sensation of the music pouring through her, lost in the loneliness that has driven her out into the night. Blond hair shining under the false blue and red cruiser lights, swishing around her shoulders with her lazy rhythm. They swarm her like flies to honey, the men in the club. They flock to her. She's not interested, not really aware of them at all. Not aware of anything but the music carrying her away.
Mouthing the words, the chorus as she moves, takes a step, back, forward, but she's dancing to the memories in her head. The feel of him pressed against her back, hips moving in tandem with her own. The warm press of his palms at her waist, the soft brush of his lips against the nape of her neck.
They danced like this, once, twice, a lifetime ago. They danced to the beat of their own drum in a club much like the one she's in now. Unaware of their surroundings as they got lost in each other instead of the music. They were happy then. Happy to just be for once.
The glittering silver shirt cascades low on her back, shift, slide, slithering across her skin as she moves. Eye catching and too loud all at the same time. The low slung black pants cling to her skin like her lover used to do. She clings to the music like it's the only thing that's keeping her afloat. Peach colored lip-gloss on her lips sparkles and shines as she mouths the words.
Her eyes are tightly closed, closed to the world around her, to better enjoy the memories of the past. The past she's pushed to the back of her mind so often it's a bittersweet memory taking over.
A braver man would touch her, would take what she's offering with every slick slide of her hips. A braver man would try and speak to her, offer to buy her a drink, take the pain of the memories from her. She knows, is certain, that the world is devoid of bravery, the room barren of courageous men. They're all enjoying the show, watching as she loses a little bit of herself in the moment, watching as she gyrates to each and every rhythm the DJ pours through the speakers.
Hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, gesticulating the words as she sings softly to herself, the hold of the past gets stronger with each passing moment. He's there with her, holding her, touching her as she moves. He's only a memory, but one with silken claws dug so deeply into her skin, she's not sure she'll ever get free.
A blur of years since she's seen him, years since she's felt him pressing against her the way she needs him to be tonight. Another night, another careless dance on a floor she'll never visit again. Just another way to remember him the way he was before it all fell apart.
The song comes to an end, but the music is still playing inside her. Another song, another fan of the golden girl on the floor as the DJ mixes a similar song, spinning out the spell she's weaving inside the club. Her magic draws them near; the pain on her face keeps them at bay. It's a balanced web she weaves with every whispered word, with every flick of her hips.
She's unaware of the man stalking the edge of the crowd, watching the other men watching her. She's unaware of anything but the past inside her head. He's slow, taking his time as he watches her, sees the pain on her face. So often he's seen it, so often he'd been the cause of it. The pain.
He glides closer, a step, two, pushes past the circle of gawking onlookers to take one more step towards her. She's lost to him, miles away from the club, from the people surrounding her. There's an edge of pain on her face, slight tremors that make her body shake that tell him plainer than words, what her state of mind is. She'd always been easy to read. Always been one to wear her passions on her sleeve. He'd been with her once, touched her while she swayed to the music, body pressed tightly to his own. He'd known her better than he'd known himself. He thinks that nothing much has changed. She'd still rather be spelunking.
Tight. He's tight, hard, aching to feel her against him once more. One more step and he's behind her, hips flush to hers, hands at her waist. He molds himself to her back as they dance, carelessly, carefully matching her rhythm without batting an eye. It took a brave man to approach her. A braver man would have offered to buy her a drink, struck up a conversation. He's never figured himself for a brave man.
They danced like they were made for each other. Understanding instinctively the way the other was about to move, going to step, wanting to step. They had, after all, danced together for years. Across sharp glass shrapnel caught in the sand beneath their feet, down glittering hallways littered with student witnesses, by themselves in the comfort of his living room. They'd always danced, always known how to move together, in tandem, apart, together, and away.
She doesn't know who he is, doesn't care, just wants the stimulation to add to the memories playing through her body, wreaking havoc on her senses. She won't remember him tomorrow, since it won't really be a stranger behind her. It will be Ihim/I; it's always been him.
Step, glide, touch and they're almost to the end of the song. His lips at the nape of her neck, brushing the soft hairs there, the way he knows she likes. He pulls her tighter against him, grinding his hard cock into her backside. He wants her to want him, wants to show her how much he's missed her. Or so she tells herself.
The spell is apparently broken, the men wander away, the DJ mixes in a faster song, trying to break them apart. Trying to break the spell they seem to be under. They're still moving, to their own beat, their own rhythm, just as they've always done.
One step to the left, a step to the side, and she's sliding in his arms, glittering shirt catching on the soft cotton of his sweater. Her eyes snap open, meeting his, a second, an instant and the spell is definitely broken.
The tension in the room ratchets up a notch, becomes so thick neither can breathe as they stare. They remember.
Veronica can't breathe, can't understand what he's doing Ihere/I after all this time. Why here, why this club, why tonight? She asks herself as she continues to be caught in his gaze.
Logan reaches out a hand; a single finger runs down her cheek, brushing a soft curl out of her face. He's not sure what to say, not sure how to explain, or if there's any explanation necessary.
She nods once, resolutely, taking his hand in hers. Veronica had made up her mind, a second, an instant, a lifetime too late.
They're moving in tandem again, bodies brushing together on the floor, lost in the past, the future, a memory inside their minds. The spell is here, weaving through the room as her audience returns.
It's the absence of pain on her face this time, which draws them. Makes them sigh, luring them in. Flies to honey as the two on the dance floor draw deeper into each other.
Too many wasted years, too many wasted opportunities. A fight, a kiss, an insurmountable amount of pain later, and here they are. Driven into the dark of a club by the memory of what was, what could have been, what might be again.