The chandeliers had dimmed, the laughter faded, and the Celestia Atrium stood quieter now. Guests spilled into the night air, their voices softer, their steps slower after hours of wine and music.
Kurt slipped out with them, his wrist still aching from Mimi’s twist. He flexed it, winced, and muttered under his breath. “Damn her… she nearly broke it.”
He shook his hand, half‑humiliated, half‑amused. The sting was sharp, but the memory of her eyes, that flash of warning, that faint curve of her lips—made him grin despite himself.
He leaned against the stone railing outside, the cool night air brushing his face. His friends stumbled past, laughing, but Kurt stayed behind, nursing his wrist and replaying the moment. “She fights on the dance floor… who does that?” he whispered, chuckl
