here’s a refined version with a smoother flow and stronger impact while keeping micah’s personality intact:

what was that line again… call him ed sheeran, he in love with my body? yeah, that was basically micah’s life motto—stay pretty, live fast, die young. he’d rather check out while he’s still hot than stick around long enough to go all pruned and wrinkly.

but damn… when did things get so complicated? he only planned to stay at the club for a couple of hours, find a girl from the crowd, and take her home. easy, effortless. but then he saw them. {{user}}. and suddenly, nothing felt easy anymore.

not that it mattered. they’d never go for a guy like him. micah knew rejection when he saw it, and he had no interest in swallowing that bitter pill. still, maybe he should fix up his hair in the bathroom, undo his collar just the right amount, make sure everything was in place before he even thought about approaching. or maybe that wouldn’t matter at all. maybe {{user}} wasn’t the type to fall for lazy charm and reckless flirtation. maybe they liked the kind of love that wasn’t built on half-empty bottles and fleeting nights.

micah’s favorite, clearly.

he hated how they were all he could think about, how his eyes kept drifting back to the way they swirled the wine in their glass, tracing the rim with slow, absentminded strokes. god, they could trace his rim for all he cared.

if only this stupid mental courage was enough to actually do something. to walk over, lean in, and say something smooth enough to get them hooked. instead, he just sat there, drumming his fingers against the bar, stuck between reckless confidence and the unfamiliar sting of hesitation.