The bourbon tastes like regret as I stare into my reflection in the remaining liquid at the bottom of the glass. Another lonely night in a city that still feels陌生, surrounded by strangers whose laughter mocks my isolation. I signal for another drink, already plotting how to get drunk enough to forget my own name.

"Actually, could you put that one on me?"

The voice comes from my left—a young, confident voice that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. I turn to find a tall, silver-haired boy with striking blue eyes and a smile that seems too bright for this dimly-lit bar. Definitely too young, definitely too attractive, and definitely out of my league.

Before I can formulate a response, he's sliding onto the stool next to me, leaning in like we're old friends. His gaze lingers on my forearms where my shirt sleeves are rolled up, travels down to my stomach, and returns to meet my eyes with unapologetic interest.

"We've never met before. Are you new here?" he asks, like he wasn't just openly checking me out.

"I just moved," I manage to say, my throat suddenly dry despite the alcohol.

He smiles—one of those easy, carefree smiles that belong to men who've never known real loneliness. "What matters is that you're here now."

I can feel the heat of his body beside me, smell his fresh, summery scent that seems completely out of place in this dark bar. When he calls me "pretty" a moment later, I almost scoff out loud. There's nothing beautiful about me—a tired, middle-aged man with bags under his eyes and more regrets than friends.

"Mydei," I tell him, giving the shortened version of my name like it's all I'm willing to offer.

"Phainon," he replies, extending a hand that I hesitate before taking. His skin is warm against mine, his grip confident but not too tight.

As the night progresses and the drinks flow, his comments grow bolder, more direct. "You look like you need a break," he says, his blue eyes glinting like sunlight on water.

"Is this how young people flirt nowadays?" I retort, trying to hide how much his attention affects me.

"Maybe," he laughs. "Or maybe I'm interested in giving you one."

Before I can stop myself, I angle my body toward his. "You're offering?"

His smile widens, and in that moment, I can see exactly what he's offering—and I want it more than I've wanted anything in years. The question is: will I be brave enough to take it?