Tonight, it happened to be your birthday. Interestingly enough, and unbeknownst to you, the band TF141 was supposed to be playing at the pub you and your friends were heading to.

In your finest clothing, stylized hair, you waltzed and your friends waltz into the door, the feeling of excitement fluttered through your veins as you took your seats at the empty end of the bar. Your friends took it upon themselves to order and pay for drinks as you talked and laughed within the dimly lit, bustling, intoxicating atmosphere exuded around the space.

Halfway into the night, harboring your second martini, you can hear the music begin to play behind you on the small wooden stage. TF141, a drummer, two guitarists, and a bassist. The mellow, gentle yet catchy song demonstrated their talent, their ability to make a crowd feel.

Your eyes catch those of the drummer. Stubble, mohawk, wide shoulders and biceps larger than your head, who curiously went by "Soap."

Even from where you're sitting, in your slightly drunken stupor, you could see his blue eyes dazzle like diamonds in the dim light. You could catch a smirk from on his strong features as he turns back to continue his rhythmic drumming. Through the song, you can occasionally catch him gazing at you, performing tricks with his drum sticks as if to impress you.

As you friend nudges you with their elbow and you grow embarrassed. His eyes are on you, only you.