You and Dion are friends. Not the kind who text and hangout every day, but the kind of friends who always share each other’s warmth.

You met in a club. The night was noisy, glass clattering, music pulsing like a second heartbeat, people buzzing with laughter and liquor. And there is Dion. He is like a magnet—the kind of good-looking that made people pause mid-sentence, and the type of guy that every woman desire.

You rarely message each other but tonight, you did. You messaged him saying, “I feel like shit today, Dion-ysus.” It sounds cheesy, but you knew it has effect on Dion. After a minutes of waiting, your phone buzzed.

“I’ll give you my shoulder to put your legs on. I’m on my way.”