The song hit the three-minute mark—where the radio edit usually surrendered—but tonight, the DJ let the tape run. The organ solo began to spiral. It wasn't just a melody; it was a conversation. Rod Argent’s fingers danced across the keys, building a cathedral of sound that climbed toward the damp ceiling.
As the final, crashing chords finally began to fade into a reverb-heavy sunset, the room stayed silent for a heartbeat too long. They were all stranded in the silence, waiting for the world to resume. Time of The Season (Extended Mix)
Leo leaned against the exposed brick, a half-empty ginger beer in his hand. He wasn’t a dancer, but the did something to the physics of the room. It gave the song room to breathe, to stretch its golden limbs. Beside him, Maya was already caught in the swell. She didn't dance with her feet; she danced with her shoulders, her eyes closed, her hair a halo of dark curls catching the flickering amber light of the oil lamps. The song hit the three-minute mark—where the radio
"It’s the time of the season for loving," the vocals whispered, breathy and close, like a secret shared in a crowded elevator. Rod Argent’s fingers danced across the keys, building