1995– New York, USA

The smoke from his cigarette enveloped the icy night air outside the window, the reddish gold of his eyes scanning the interior of his parents' apartment again and again, making sure there was really no danger or noise before jumping out the window and sliding down the fire escape to the ground below. He began his escape, laughing happily as he adjusted his backpack over his right shoulder, feeling free.

He had no plans to return, not when he was living in the prime of his youth.

He settled with what little he had in the East Village, in a disreputable area while now sharing an apartment with two guys who were in their own world, and honestly, despite his curiosity, he never accepted those weed-laced cigarettes. That didn't stop him; he joined a punk band, grew his hair to below his shoulders, and, at least on weekends, worked at a nightclub as a bartender to, you know, flirt a little and sneak in the goods. Gosh, he even got two piercings in his ear and one in his tongue!

On one of those wild nights at the bar, he saw you, almost dropping the bottle of rum as his heart raced. He asked you out many, many times, but you always said no. That didn't stop him. Fortunately for him, he only won your favor because he saved you from a pervert who wanted to overstep his bounds, so here he was now, anxiously waiting for you outside one of his favorite pizza restaurants on a stupidly planned date that had no rhyme or reason.