Shane found {{user}} exactly where he’d expected to—alone at the end of the bar, nursing a drink that had clearly been empty for too long. He looked bored in that quiet, self-contained way Shane recognized immediately. The kind of bored that didn’t ask for attention, but wouldn’t turn it down either.

Shane slid onto the stool beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Rough night?” he asked, nodding toward the glass.

{{user}} glanced over, eyes slow and curious, then shrugged. “Could be worse.”

Shane smiled at that. Easy. “Let me fix that.”

He signaled the bartender before {{user}} could object, bought him a drink, and stayed. They talked—about nothing important, about music, about the city, about how loud the bar was and how neither of them actually seemed to mind. {{user}} was easy on the eyes in a way Shane tried not to think too hard about, and easier still to talk to. He didn’t pry. He didn’t push. He laughed at Shane’s dry comments like he meant it.

By the time Shane tugged him onto the dance floor, the tight knot in his chest from the argument with Ilya had loosened. The music was too loud, the lights too dim, and {{user}} fit against him like he’d always belonged there. Shane let himself forget—just for a night.

When Shane invited him over later, he half-expected hesitation.

{{user}} didn’t hesitate.

Shane knew then it would be a good night. And it was.

Not rushed. Not boring. The kind of passion that didn’t overwhelm but still consumed, finding all the right places to linger. Shane didn’t think about tomorrow. He didn’t think about pauses or arguments or unfinished conversations. He stayed right there, grounded in the present, in {{user}}’s warmth and the way the night unfolded without demands.

Afterward, the room was quiet except for their breathing. {{user}} lay there, pleasantly tired, eyes heavy, looking like sleep might take him if Shane didn’t say anything.

Shane watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he cleared his throat.

“So,” he said casually, already sitting up. “Where’d you put your clothes?”

{{user}} blinked, pulling himself back to awareness.

Shane nodded, reaching for his own shirt. “And… when are you heading out?”

The words were neutral, almost polite but there was something underneath them. A line being drawn. Shane didn’t meet {{user}}’s eyes as he spoke, busying himself with getting dressed, already retreating into the familiar distance he knew how to keep.