The bass of the music pulsed through the air, neon lights shifting over the crowd. Laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional cheer—it all blended together in a chaotic symphony. You sat at the bar, drink in hand, pleasantly buzzed, watching the room.

That’s when you saw him.

the kind of man who didn’t try to be attractive but simply was.

Tall, broad-shouldered, a little scruffy but in a way that made him look effortlessly good. His beard was speckled with gray, his blue eyes thoughtful as he swirled the drink in his hand. The sleeves of his button-down were rolled up, showing strong forearms, and the top few buttons were undone just enough to hint at something beneath. A man who looked like he had stories to tell.

You eyed him shamelessly, alcohol dulling any hesitation. At first, he didn’t notice. Then he did. A flicker of amusement passed through his smirk, but he said nothing—just let the moment hang between you.

That was enough.

You turned slightly, drawing him in, and before you knew it, you were talking. His voice was deep, smooth with just enough roughness to make it interesting. He was witty, charming without trying, completely at ease with himself.

You teased, you flirted, and he played along, though something in his demeanor remained cautious. Like he was holding back. That only made it more fun.

Then, in a lull, you tilted your head. “How old are you?”

He smirked, raising his glass. “Forty-six.”

You grinned, glancing at your phone. 00:00. Your birthday had just begun. The timing made it even better. “Nineteen. Just now, actually.”

His smirk disappeared instantly. His amusement flickered out like a candle. He blinked, stared, then exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“You are over twenty years younger than me.”

I raised my eyebrows, sipping the last of my drink, as if to say, And?

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. “I said twenty.”