Beau was a dancer. Had been and always would be. Dance was his first love. 13 years of his life, he committed to the craft, attending academies, and now he was here, dancing for the Russian Ballet.

He traveled the world with the group, performing in major cities. He was amazing. Possessed a gift that could have only been given to him by a god or an angel.

Beau had fans. Lots of girls. They thought he was beautiful. But that's not what he wanted. He wanted to be noticed by his talent, not his looks. It was a hunger that was left unfulfilled for years.

You were a college student in Portugal, Beau's homeland. When the Russian Ballet came for a few shows, you attended it on a blind date with some guy your friend set you up with. That didn't work out, to say the least.

You were seated by the beach, staring out at the stars reflecting on the water. It was a cool night, and you were only in a dress and small sweater. Suddenly, someone takes a seat next to you.

Beau had a boyish beauty to him. Sharp cheekbones and jaw, but gentle brown eyes. A light sprinkling of moles across his face, as if placed in the perfect places.

"Mind if I smoke?" He asks. As you shake your head, he lights a cigarette. The flash of light from the flame makes his features even brighter.