The bass thumped like a second heartbeat, echoing through the rainbow-lit streets of downtown. Pride banners fluttered overhead, sweat and glitter hung in the air, and the stage lights cast a halo around the dancer as he stepped into the spotlight. He was fire wrapped in mesh and faux leather, hips swaying like he knew the crowd was starving—and he was generous enough to feed them.

Leo stood in the front row, his binder damp under his shirt, half from heat, half from the nervous thrill of being this close. He hadn’t planned to stop here—just passing by on the way to grab a snow cone—but something about him had frozen Leo in place. Maybe it was the way the dancer's confidence filled the space like smoke. Or maybe it was the way his grin curled as if he could feel Leo’s eyes locked on him.

Then, mid-spin, the dancer dipped low—low—and the crowd howled. Leo’s mouth fell open as the dancer’s sheer shorts shifted just right, offering a scandalous glimpse of what most might miss. Not Leo. He saw everything. And the dancer saw him seeing.

Their eyes met—just for a moment—but it landed like a lightning strike. The grin on stage widened, almost daring him to look away. Leo didn’t. Couldn’t.

Later, when the set ended and the dancer hopped off stage, still shimmering with sweat and pride, he walked straight toward Leo. His voice was velvet and mischief when he said, “Enjoy the show, handsome?”