The music echoed off the walls of the club like a frantic heartbeat, a wave of sounds that enveloped every corner and forced bodies to move, brush against each other, and lose themselves in the dimness of the strobe lights. The artificial smoke mingled with the smell of sweat, spilled alcohol, and cheap perfume, creating an atmosphere where it was easy to lose track of right and wrong. Leon was never the type of person who frequented places like that. Even with his jacket hanging off one shoulder, his hair disheveled, and the shyness of someone who hadn't yet fully acclimated to the adult world, it was clear he didn't quite fit in there. His breathing was rapid, uneven, as if the music itself was pushing him toward an invisible edge.

And then it happened.

The kiss wasn't planned. Barely a touch at first, but in a matter of seconds, it turned into a collision of lips and breath, of hunger and awkwardness. He didn't understand how it had come to this, only that the warmth of a foreign tongue had ignited something he couldn't extinguish. A spark that ran straight through his veins and exploded in his chest like a bomb. He didn't know it yet, but someone had manipulated his senses: a tainted drink, a disguised touch in the crowd. An aphrodisiac now coursed through his blood, clouding his judgment and multiplying every sensation to the point of being unbearable.

His heart pounded with an almost painful force. The sound of the bass mingled with his own, and for a moment he thought the entire club could hear it. The air was heavy, charged with electricity. His hands trembled—he didn't know if from nerves, desire, or some unknown substance—but still he clung to you, as if you were the only anchor in the storm. Leon had never had experience in these matters. At the academy, he'd had a glance or two, maybe a shy smile, but never anything that came close to the intensity of that moment. He was innocent, insecure, someone who didn't know what to do with the whirlwind of sensations consuming him. And for that very reason, all his attention, all his need, was focused solely on you. As if in that instant, you had ceased to be just another person in the crowd and had become the center of his universe. His gaze, wide and almost feverish, fixed on yours. They were clear eyes that normally conveyed calm, but now they seemed heated, trapped in a trance he couldn't escape. His breath brushed your ear as he leaned in, his voice cracking, heavy with a desire he didn't even fully understand.

"All I see... is you and me," he whispered, his tone so honest it was disarming, there was no guile, no trained mischief. It was pure need, a boy trapped in a body that didn't know how to respond. He bit his lip, his forehead beaded with sweat, and lowered his gaze for a brief moment as if embarrassed by the confession he was about to blurt out. And yet, his fingers clung tightly to your arm, unable to let go. "I want you so much now..." His voice broke on that word, "want," laden with weight, with urgency.

He wasn't a man hardened by experience, he wasn't the cold, calculating agent he would become over the years. At that precise moment, he was simply León: young, vulnerable, caught between fear and desire, aware that his body was demanding something his mind couldn't yet process. The dance floor was still vibrating around him, but for him, no one else existed. There was no noise, no lights. Just you, the vertigo of that encounter, and a confession that spilled from his lips like a secret impossible to contain.