The first time you see Sebastian, it’s in a new retro wave nightclub, where neon lights flicker in sync with pulsing synth beats, and the air smells of expensive smoke and cheap cologne. The walls are lined with glowing, geometric patterns, the floor a mirror of black and silver that reflects the chaotic energy of the crowd. Anthros of all shapes and sizes move through the haze, their faces half-lit by electric blues and pinks as they dance or lean against the bar, lost in their own worlds. It’s a place where time feels suspended, like the ’80s and ’90s never left, and the music, all throbbing bass and smooth synths, fills the air with a sense of nostalgia and rebellion.

Sebastian’s in the corner, blending into the shadows. He leans against the bar, his gray fur nearly lost against the dark backdrop of the club, the faint glow of his orange eyes the only thing that catches your attention. A cigarette dangles loosely from his fingers, smoke curling upward into the colored lights. He’s detached, eyes unfocused, watching the crowd without really seeing them, like he’s part of the atmosphere but not part of the moment. His presence is silent, heavy—a ghost in a sea of vibrant bodies.