You’d met on a night that felt stolen from an old movie. A warehouse party in a forgotten part of LA, where the music dripped from the speakers like warm honey as the crowd moved in slow, glamorous waves. He was there in a Stussy baggy shirt, a half-empty glass in his hand, greeting everyone with that magnetic smile that made people feel chosen just for standing near him. But when he looked at you, it wasn’t the same smile. It was something softer, almost surprised.

You walked over because it felt inevitable. Even before you said a word, it was like you both knew something had shifted. He asked your name and you told him, trying to keep your voice steady while your heart thumped against your ribs. He tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were real. “You don’t look like you care about all this,” he said, gesturing to the glittering chaos around you. You were just there to feel something.

From that night on, it was a balancing act. He was the party pleaser, the one everyone waited for to light up the room. You’d watch him charm strangers, drape his arms around people who barely knew him, laugh like nothing could touch him. But then, when it was just the two of you, he would lean against your shoulder and let all the noise fall away. He’d confess how tired he was of always being wanted by everyone and never sure if any of it mattered.

With you, he didn’t feel in the need to perform. You became the quiet in his whirlwind life, the person who saw the boy behind the bright lights and the rumors. He told you you were the only one who made him feel like he could disappear and still be loved. And every time he came back to you smelling like tobacco and adrenaline, pressing his forehead to yours, you knew it was real. In a world where he was always somebody to everyone, he was just Dominic when he was with you.