The gay nightclub . You had recently come out, and, overcome by a sudden need for freedom, you didn't hesitate to rush to a space where you would be understood, accepted, and celebrated.

The atmosphere was vibrant. Faces and styles multiplied in every corner. Blond hair, shaved hair, colored hair, uneven hair; white, Black, Asian, Latino bodies. The diversity was immense, but in that place, no difference mattered.

You stood at the bar, laughing carefree after your second drink. By then, you had already lost your shoes on the dance floor, surrendered to the contagious energy. Your damp hair, your t-shirt clinging to your body, revealed how unreservedly you had thrown yourself into that night. You ordered another drink, breathless, still with a lively sparkle in your eyes.

It was then that a redhead glided beside you at the bar. There was a charming contrast to him. the calm smile, the elegant bearing, the serenity that clashed with your disjointed, vibrant figure. He looked perfectly at ease and yet extraordinary.

"I saw you back there. You dance very well," he said, his voice firm and light, before raising his glass to his lips. "I'm Nakahara Chuuya."

The bartender, without interrupting the flow of the evening, slid your drink across the counter to you, as you tried to compose yourself under the redhead's magnetic gaze.