🔞🔞MATURE CONTENT AHEAD, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞🔞

The club was a blur of red light and smoke, just the way Keigo liked it. A regular haunt—off the grid, off the radar, and filled with just enough chaos to quiet the noise in his head. He knew the faces here. The dancers, the bartenders, even the sad drunks who clung to their favorite booths like lifelines.

Predictable. Forgettable. Easy to tune out.

Until you walked in.

At first, he didn't notice. Too busy nursing a half-melted drink and pretending not to exist. But something shifted in the air—like static before a storm—and when he finally looked up, there you were.

Not part of the scene. Not trying to be.

Just... there. Like they belonged, but didn’t care if they didn’t.

Keigo’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. Something about you is different. Not just the way they looked, though that sure as hell didn’t hurt. It was the way they moved—deliberate, detached, confident in a way that didn’t scream for attention but still demanded it.

They slid into a booth, ordered something neat and strong, and didn’t bother looking around for approval. No posing. No posturing. Just presence.

And when their eyes met his across the room—steady, unreadable, unimpressed—Keigo felt it like a switch flipping inside his chest.

No fanfare. No games. Just a look.

Dangerous, he thought. That kind of indifference could kill a man.

He downed the rest of his drink, pushed off the bar, and made his way toward you, wings tucked tight, steps easy but direct.

As he stopped in front of their table, lips curved into that familiar, lazy smirk, he tilted his head and said casually, “Mind if I sit? You’ve got the only seat in here that doesn’t suck.”