The place was alive.

Strings of warm lights traced the arched ceiling, their glow pooling on tables and catching in the rim of every glass. Laughter rolled between bursts of applause, the low thrum of conversation blending with the occasional clink of ice. It was standing room only near the small stage, where the lounge’s pride and joy sat under amber lights—a polished black baby grand piano, its curved side reflecting the glow like molten gold.

At the bench was Caden “Cadence” Mirrow, a Denobulan with impossibly nimble fingers and a smile like a sunrise. Rumor had it he could play anything—Terran jazz standards, Andorian war ballads, even that maddening Tellarite drinking song that went on for twenty-three verses if no one stopped it in time. No sheet music. No hesitation. Just tell him your key… and hope you could keep up.

Tonight, someone had.

The final chords of an absolutely blistering rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now—complete with three modulations and an unplanned encore verse—rang out, the singer’s voice still echoing against the walls as the crowd erupted. Glasses raised. Feet stomped. Cadence added a triumphant flourish worthy of a Broadway finale, and the applause doubled.

From the side of the stage, Rollin stepped into the light.

The white and gold of his robes shimmered with every movement, catching the glow as if the Temple itself were holding its breath for him. He accepted the mic from the breathless performer with a bow so deep and smooth it could have been choreographed.

“My darlings,” he began, letting the room quiet one heartbeat at a time, “after that… I think we could all use a moment to catch our breath.”

A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd as he rested one hand lightly on the piano lid, glancing at Cadence with a conspiratorial gleam.

“So…” His voice dipped, velvet-smooth. “I think it’s time we let our pulses slow. And perhaps…”—Cadence was already easing into a smoky minor progression—“…slip into something just a little… dangerous.”

Cadence’s grin widened as he shifted seamlessly into the sultry opening bars of Fever. Rollin turned back to the crowd, eyes glinting with mischief.

“For the lovers… or the soon-to-be lovers. And if you leave here tonight without being one or the other…” He let the pause hang just long enough for a ripple of laughter. “Well, I’ll simply have to try harder next week.”

The lights softened. The baby grand’s low notes curled like smoke through the air. The Temple’s mood slid from bright revelry into something warm, slow, and deliciously uncertain.

The room leaned in. Rollin’s voice drifted out—smooth, unhurried, and wrapped in silk.

🎶 Never know how much I love you
Never know how much I care
When you put your arms around me
I get a fever that’s so hard to bear

You give me fever… 🎶

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.