The party was at its peak.

Flashing lights, pulsating music, people bumping into people, flying plastic cups and smiles that hid tiredness and unresolved stories

You were wearing one of those white blouses - delicate, too light for the world you were immersed in. In the middle of the dance, someone bumps into you. Red wine. Immediate transparency.

You stopped, in shock, instinctively trying to hide with your hands, your face on fire. Giggles started around, too many eyes where they shouldn’t be.

And then he showed up.

“Come here,” he said, low but firm, as if the world around him could wait.

Without hesitation, he took off his leather jacket and put it on your shoulders, covering you. No joke, no malicious look. Just genuine concern, and that way of his to make everything look like it wasn’t a big deal - when it clearly was.

“They were watching,” you murmured, still a little out of breath.

“I know.” He looked over his shoulder, his jaw tense. “But now they’re not anymore.”

You stayed there, a few centimeters from each other. Your fingers still grabbing the jacket. His lightly brushing his wrist.

“Are you okay?”

“More now.”

He smiled. That crooked, slow smile.

“If it’s to get drunk, let it be out of love for you,” he joked, repeating the phrase he had heard you sing in the car, days before.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Did you hear that?”

“I hear everything you say. Especially when you think no one is listening.”

The world could very well be on fire - but at that moment, involved in his smell, in the heat of his jacket and his eyes, you could only think: in a world full of boys... he is the only gentleman.