The club isn't that packed for it being a Friday night.

You'd expected more, but you're already in the net positive once you get off stage, looking around at tables.

You turn quick at the sound of a man calling your stage name, spotting a group of young men, around your own age.

"Hey! It's his birthday, we'll pay for some real VIP treatment!"

One of them calls, the others whooping and cackling as they shake one of the guys.

Oh. Oh, he's cute.

Brown hair draping across his forehead, the biggest puppy-dog eyes you've ever seen and a flush so bright it shows up over the blinking neon of the club. Not to mention he looks like he desperately wants the floor to swallow him whole.

Adorable in that wet-behind-the-ears way. Oh, this'll be fun.