It lasts a night, maybe a weekend, and while it burns it feels like the answer to everything. Then daylight arrives and the spell thins to a name you half remember and a warmth you can no longer quite locate.
The strange gift of it is how little it needs to be real. A borrowed jumper, a walk to the station, a playlist made in the taxi: small things get charged far beyond their weight, and then quietly discharge once the person is gone.
The music keeps the same short, bright half-life, all rush and afterglow. Hooks arrive fast and leave faster, glittering on the surface, built to be gorgeous rather than lasting and entirely aware of it.
It marks one of the series' most fleeting positions, a spark documented before it burns out. Play it when you want the high with no expectation that it will still be there in the morning.