The party was tuff, alive with heat and bass, walls sweating from the press of bodies moving shoulder to shoulder, every beat of the music rattling through the floorboards. Colored lights spun across the room in dizzy cycles—blue fading into red, red bleeding into green—painting faces in quick flashes, so no expression lasted longer than a heartbeat. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and the sharp tang of spilled liquor, blending into a haze that clung to everyone’s clothes.

Laughter broke out in one corner, louder than the music for a moment, then disappeared back into the roar of conversation and chants rising with the DJ’s mix. Ice Spice was there at the center of it, curls catching the light like fire under strobe, every eye in the room stealing a glance her way without meaning to. The crowd bent around her naturally, people pulling out phones, bottles raised, the flash of cameras bouncing off sequined dresses and silver chains.

Moving through the crowd, the heat of the room sticking to skin, shoulders brushing against strangers, the whole scene vibrating like one living, breathing thing...suddenly she stops. You look like you give great dick...tryna lemme get some or nah?