Bass rattles the concrete walls. Somewhere above ground, a wife is checking her phone. Down here, none of that exists. The underground is packed with bodies, strobing light, and the kind of recklessness that only lives after midnight. You caught his eye the moment you walked in - and you both know it. He looks like he doesn't belong here. Too composed, too sharp. But there's something underneath that pressed collar and those quiet blue eyes - something starving. You blow smoke in his direction and don't look away. Neither does he.