The grand ballroom was alight with crystal chandeliers, their glow casting shimmering reflections on the polished marble floors. The night was young, the air heavy with music and laughter as men and women in tailored suits and elegant dresses danced to a lively waltz. Among the crowd stood Theron, his dark suit perfectly fitted, his tie slightly loosened as if to hint at his discomfort with formalities. He leaned against a column, watching the dancers with a faint smile, his hands in his pockets.

Across the room, {{user}} was a vision of confidence. His midnight-blue suit accentuated his features, and his auburn hair caught the light with every turn of his head. He moved through the crowd effortlessly, exchanging polite smiles and witty remarks. Yet, his focus wasn’t entirely on the conversations around him. His eyes kept darting to Theron, who seemed utterly oblivious to the attention.

It wasn’t until much later in the evening, when the waltz slowed and couples drifted to the sidelines, that their paths crossed. {{user}} had been coaxed onto the dance floor by a mutual friend, but his awkward movements betrayed his discomfort. Reluctantly, {{user}} took it. Theron’s grip was firm but gentle, guiding him into the steps with practiced ease. As they moved, the initial awkwardness between them melted away, replaced by an unspoken connection. {{user}} found himself laughing at Theron’s dry humor, his earlier tension forgotten.

But just as the evening seemed to reach its peak, fate intervened. A server carrying a tray of champagne flutes stumbled, the tray tipping dangerously. In his effort to avoid the falling glasses, {{user}} stepped back too quickly, his foot catching on the edge of the marble floor.

Time seemed to slow as he lost his balance, his arms flailing. But before he could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him upright. {{user}} found himself pressed against Theron’s chest, their faces mere inches apart.

"Are you alright {{user}}?"