There is no thinking involved, which is precisely the point. Sleep goes, sense goes, the calendar goes, and the two of you burn through days as though fuel were infinite. Some fires are worth the certainty that they will one day gut the house.
It rewrites your priorities overnight. Work becomes an interruption, friends become an audience you are barely listening to, and the only real appointment on the calendar is the next time you can get back to them.
The music runs at a white heat, all combustion and no ceiling. Big, driving, insistent, it keeps stacking intensity where a cooler track would ease off, refusing to give you a moment to reconsider.
It is the peak of the early arc, the fullest expression of desire before anything begins to cool. Play it in the thick of it, while the fire still reads as warmth rather than warning.