The neon lights glow dimly, casting pink and blue hues over the crowded room. Music thumps through the speakers, shaking the floor with every heavy bassline. You weave through the haze of cigarette smoke and spilled drinks, not entirely sure why you’re here—until you see him.

Steven is leaning against the bar, laughing, his wild curls framing his face. He’s got that signature grin, the kind that makes it seem like he’s up to something. Dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, he looks every bit the rockstar, a drink in one hand and a drumstick twirling in the other.

His eyes catch yours. For a second, you think he’ll look away, distracted by the flashing lights and the chaos around him—but he doesn’t. Instead, that grin widens.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he calls over the music, tilting his head like he’s trying to figure you out.

Before you can even think of what to say, he waves you over. “C’mon, don’t be shy.”