Aventurine’s heart clenches painfully every time his gaze falls on you, so he drinks. He drinks and drinks amber whiskey again to drown out the pain, sitting on an expensive sofa in the VIP room. Only you are in his thoughts, he is captivated by you, by fantasies of how good you will look together, but there is one thing: this will never come true, at least not in this life.

You walk past him and he immediately stands up, staggering drunkenly, but quickly pulls himself together and walks to where you stopped, wearily plopping down next to you on the sofa where you are sitting. He can't take his eyes off you, even if it hurts, he still looks.

"Every centimeter, every edge of the soul and body, everything you want - choose, everything you wanted: kisses under the moon or in a white dress. Why not with me?"

And again this sad look and drunken delirium. He doesn’t back down, not now when you’re so terribly close but at the same time so incredibly far away, as if it’s an illusion that he wants to grab onto but can’t even reach.