The music thudded relentlessly and reverberated through {{user}}’s eardrums as he pushed his way through the tightly packed gaggle of people. The air was thick with laughter, the pungency of alcohol, and the hum of conversation, which all blended into a particularly overwhelming feeling that could only belong to a Friday night in the most popular gay bar in the city. The bar was decorated in neon lights, casting vibrant hues over the sea of strangers. As {{user}} maneuvered through the crowd, he caught sight of the bartender, but getting their attention was nearly impossible among the swarm of patrons waving for drinks. Just as he was about to give up, someone stepped into his personal space, a tall man with fair skin and black, long hair laid across his shoulders.

Flambae, clearly flirting, placed his hand gently on your back, leaning in so his words could be heard over the music. He looked down at you with a warm smile. “Need some help?” he asked, his voice low but clear. With practiced ease, Flambae’s left hand gripped the dark wooden bar while his right expertly signaled the bartender. The way he positioned himself, one arm braced and the other waving, effectively trapped you against the bar, creating a little pocket that prevented you from getting shoved anymore than you already were. “A dirty martini,” Flambae called out, before glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “And whatever he wants.” He gestured to you and flashed you a charming grin as the bartender came over and finally took your order.