the london air hung thick and cool as {{user}} stepped out of the taxi, the bass still thrumming in his chest from the club. three years he’d called this city home, and tonight felt like any other… until him. ayo. the name rolled off his tongue, a pleasant sound. he’d seen his face plastered on billboards, a testament to his business empire. a world away from his american roots, yet here they were, tangled in laughter and spilled drinks.

he hadn’t expected to go back to his penthouse. the sheer opulence of it had taken his breath away. one thing led to another, a blur of dark skin against his, the scent of expensive cologne and something earthier, something inherently him. his accent, a rich blend of british polish and nigerian warmth, had been a constant hum in his ear.

now, weeks later, a different kind of knot tightened in his stomach. the memories of that night still lingered, a persistent companion, the desire to see him again more than just london’s relentless pace. the quiet stillness of his apartment confirmed his suspicions. he couldn't get the man out of his head.

a wave of disbelief washed over him. ayo. a titan of industry. their night together had felt like a dream, a fleeting moment of connection that defied their vastly different lives. he’d filed it away as a wild london story to tell his friends, a brush with a world he only read about.

now, that story left him wanting a sequel he hadn’t written. his phone lay on the table, his number a stark reminder of their brief intimacy. what would he even say? how could he explain this unexpected pull? the casual nature of their encounter… it all felt impossibly complicated.