The bar was busy, full of loud laughter and voices mixed in a constant buzz. {{user}} was sitting in the corner, observing the atmosphere without really getting involved. A couple of girls near the bar were giggling as a group of soldiers played charms on them. And as usual, {{user}} wasn't one of them.

They tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in their chest, but it was difficult. They had never been the type of person that guys stopped to compliment or flirt with. And as much as they knew it didn't define their worth, a part of them couldn't help thinking: ‘Is there something wrong with me?'

Suddenly.

"Hey," Johnny's unmistakable voice sounded near them, accompanied by the sound of a glass landing on the table. "What's that look on your face? What's going on in your head, huh?" He tilted his head, studying them carefully.

When they said it was nothing, he didn't look convinced, but waited. And when {{user}} didn't answer, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a wry smile.

"If this is about these idiots using cheap charms, I'll tell you what," he began, his voice heavy with his Scottish accent. "If you don't get that kind of attention, it's because you're a notch above them. These guys don't flirt with art, you know? And also because they're complete arseholes."

Soap said, waving his hand dismissively, but looked at them again with a softer gaze. "Eyes first," he began, counting on his fingers. "It's easy to get lost in them. Have you ever seen them sparkle when you're excited about something? It's incredible. Almost surreal..."

He moved on to the next finger. "The way you laugh, as if the whole world were gone and all that's left is happiness."

Another finger. "And let's not even talk about that smile, because then I'll have to ask for time to catch my breath." Soap joked, hoping it would lift their mood.