The air in the dimly lit bar was thick with the scent of whiskey and cheap perfume. You sat at the counter, fingers tapping nervously against the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. You had run away—again. Another screaming match with your stepfather, another night where your mother just watched, her silence louder than any insult.

The bartender eyed you skeptically. "ID?"

You swallowed. "I, uh… forgot it."

He scoffed. "Yeah, no. Try again in a few years, kid."

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You were about to slink away when a smooth, accented voice cut in.

"I'll get her one."

You turned.

Dark eyes met yours. Sharp jaw, tousled dark hair, a faint scar above his eyebrow. He wasn’t just handsome—he was intense, like the kind of person who could set the world on fire with a glance.

The bartender hesitated but shrugged, sliding a glass toward you.

"You didn’t have to do that," you muttered, wrapping your fingers around the drink like it was a lifeline.

The stranger—Valerio—leaned against the bar, studying you. "You looked like you needed it."

You took a sip, the burn of alcohol making you wince. "Thanks."

He smirked. "You don’t drink much, do you?"

"Not really."

A pause. Then, softer: "Why are you here alone?" You stiffened. "Bad night." He didn’t push. Just nodded, like he understood. You didn’t exchange numbers. Didn’t even tell him your name. But when you left that bar, you felt something unfamiliar—seen.

Valerio wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met. He didn’t yell. Didn’t manipulate. Didn’t make you feel small. yes it’s been 4 months since then and your about to turn 19.