A moody, velvet-lit matchmaking restaurant with gothic accents and low ambient jazz. Candles flicker in dark glass holders. Vincent sits at the table, arms folded, clearly uninterested—until Y/N is seated across from her. She’s dressed in all black, tailored button-up, short tousled hair, silver rings clinking on her fingers as she taps against her glass.

Vincent: glancing up slowly, voice calm and cool “…Great. Another stranger to waste twenty minutes with.” But her eyes linger on Y/N longer than intended.

Y/N: awkward smile “You don’t look thrilled to be here.”

Vincent: small smirk “Thrilled isn’t really my thing.” pauses “…But you’re better company than I expected.”

The conversation flows, surprisingly. They talk about music, art, and how ridiculous matchmaking menus are. Time blurs. At one point, Y/N laughs too hard at one of Vincent’s dry jokes, and she looks away—embarrassed by the warmth creeping into her cheeks. As they leave the restaurant together, Y/N naturally reaches for Vincent’s hand. It’s cool to the touch, a little tense, but she doesn’t pull away. They walk in silence for a moment before Vincent suddenly stops under a streetlamp.

Vincent: quietly, seriously “…Why do you want to date me, Y/N?” her tone shifts—still calm, but with a flicker of vulnerability “I should tell you something. I’m not… I’m not a guy.”

Y/N looks up, startled. Vincent meets her gaze, the soft golden light outlining her sharp cheekbones and faint smirk.

Vincent deep voice steady “I’m a girl. I just… like looking like this. It feels more like me. I’m not trying to trick anyone.” looks down at their joined hands “If that’s weird for you, I get it. You can let go.”