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I leaned against the sticky bar counter, nursing my second whiskey sour of the night and watching the chaos unfold on the dance floor. My journalism classmates had dragged me out to "live a little" before the semester swallowed us whole, but they'd all abandoned me for the pulsing mass of bodies. The music was so loud I could feel the bass in my chest, and the flashing lights were giving me the beginnings of a headache.

"Another?" The bartender gestured to my nearly empty glass.

"I'm good, thanks." I glanced at my watch, calculating how long I needed to stay before I could escape without looking like a total buzzkill.

The club scene had never been my thing, even if this was the most popular gay bar near campus. I preferred quiet coffee shops where I could actually hear what people were saying. But my friends insisted I needed to stop overthinking everything and get out of my comfort zone, which is how I ended up alone at the bar, watching other people have fun.

I was about to call it a night when I felt a shift in the atmosphere around me. Maybe it was a journalist's intuition, but something made me look up.

That's when I saw him.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with the most captivating eyes I'd ever seen was making his way directly toward me. He moved with purpose through the crowd, which seemed to part for him automatically. His hair was artfully tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers through it, and he carried himself with the easy grace of an athlete despite his imposing frame.

My heart rate kicked up several notches as he approached, and I quickly looked down at my drink, pretending I hadn't been staring. But then he was right there, his presence impossible to ignore.

"Is this seat taken?" His voice was deep and warm, cutting through the club noise effortlessly. He gestured to the empty barstool beside me, a half-smile playing on his lips.

I looked up. "Depends on who's asking," I replied, with far more confidence than I actually felt.

His smile widened into a grin that made my stomach flip. "Sean. And I've been watching you turn down dance offers for the past half hour." He slid onto the stool without waiting for my permission. "So either you're waiting for someone special, or you have two left feet."

I laughed. "For your information, I'm an excellent dancer. Just selective about my partners."

"Is that so?" Sean raised an eyebrow, angling his body toward mine. "And what's your selection criteria?"

"They need to be interesting enough to make me want to put down my drink." I was surprised by my own boldness, but something about this man made me want to play along. I extended my hand. "I'm Lucas, by the way."

His palm was warm against mine, his handshake firm but not aggressive. "Nice to meet you, Selective Lucas. So, am I interesting enough yet, or should I try harder?"

"That remains to be seen." I took another sip of my drink to hide my smile. "What brings you here tonight?"

"Would you believe me if I said fate?" Sean's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "My flat mate insisted I needed to 'get out more' instead of 'being a boring bastard who only thinks about hockey and classes.'"

"Your roommate sounds a lot like my friends."

"Let me guess, they're all out there," he nodded toward the dance floor, "while you're holding down the fort at the bar?"

"Got it in one," I confirmed. "They mean well, but..." I gestured vaguely at the club around us.

"Not your scene?" Sean finished for me.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to another person who's been dragged here against his better judgment." His smile was conspiratorial now, like we were sharing a secret. "Don't get me wrong, I enjoy dancing occasionally, but the whole 'shouting over music until your throat hurts' thing? Not my idea of a good time."

"Exactly!" I found myself leaning closer. "I'd much rather have an actual conversation."

"Like this one?" The corner of his mouth quirked up, and I realized just how close we'd gotten, drawn together like magnets over the narrow bar top.

"Yeah," I said softly. "Like this one."

Sean's eyes dropped briefly to my lips before meeting my gaze again. "So, Lucas, what do you do when you're not being selective at bars?"

"I'm a journalism major. Junior year." I rotated my glass on the napkin beneath it. "What about you?"

"Sports Management major, with a minor in Business." He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more attractively disheveled. "Sports takes up most of my time, though."

"Are you any good?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Sean laughed. "Modest, too. I like that." He leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "I'm decent enough that I'm here on a full scholarship, and there are usually scouts at our games."

"Impressive."

"Not really. Just a lot of early mornings and late nights." He shrugged, but I could tell he was proud. "What kind of journalism are you into?"

"I'm still figuring that out. I'm working for the campus paper right now, trying different beats." I watched his face, noting how his eyes never left mine, how attentively he listened. "I like human interest stories. Finding the unexpected angles."

"So you're the type who digs beneath the surface?" His gaze was suddenly more intense.

"I try to be." I finished my drink. "Life's more interesting that way."

"Some things are better left uncovered," Sean said, something unreadable flashing across his face before his easy smile returned. "So, what kind of movies do you like?"

The abrupt subject change threw me for a moment, but I went with it. "All kinds, really. I've got pretty eclectic taste."

Sean groaned dramatically. "Please don't tell me you're one of those pretentious film students who only watches black and white foreign films."

I straightened up, adopting an exaggerated haughty expression. "I'll have you know that 'Sad French Woman Stares Out Window For Three Hours' is a cinematic masterpiece."

Sean burst into laughter, the sound rich and genuine. "Oh my god, that's exactly the title I was picturing!"

"The sequel's even better. 'Sad French Woman Takes Very Long Walk While Smoking Cigarette.'"

"Stop!" Sean was still laughing, one hand clutching his chest. "I can literally see the movie poster."

His laughter was infectious, and soon I was chuckling too. "What about you? Let me guess—nothing but sports movies and Marvel?"

"Actually, I'm a sucker for old-school comedies. 'Airplane!', 'The Princess Bride', that kind of thing."

The air between us seemed to change, charged with something more than just casual flirtation. His hand was resting on the bar, just inches from mine, and I found myself wondering what would happen if I closed that small gap.

Our conversation flowed effortlessly after that, punctuated by lingering glances and the occasional "accidental" brush of our hands.

The more we talked, the more I felt drawn to him. It wasn't just that he was attractive—though he absolutely was, with those penetrating eyes and that smile that seemed to light up his entire face. It was the way he listened, really listened, leaning in to hear me better over the music, asking follow-up questions that showed he was genuinely interested in my answers.

"You know," Sean said after we'd been talking for nearly an hour, "I came here tonight planning to have one obligatory drink and then bail. But I'm really glad I stayed."

"Me too," I admitted. The club around us had gotten even more crowded, but somehow we'd created our own private bubble, an island of conversation in a sea of noise and movement.

Sean stood suddenly, offering me his hand. "What about that dance now? Or are your standards still too high?"

I looked at his extended hand, then back up at his face, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "I suppose you've met the minimum requirements," I said, taking his hand and feeling a jolt of attraction at the contact.

But instead of leading me to the crowded dance floor, Sean guided me toward a quieter corner near the back of the club. The music was still audible, but we could actually hear each other without shouting.

Before I could question the location choice, Sean gently pulled me closer, one hand coming to rest lightly on my waist. "Is this okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded, suddenly aware of how much taller he was, how solid he felt even through the minimal points where our bodies connected.

"Lucas," he said, suddenly serious, his eyes searching my face. "Can I kiss you?"

My breath caught, but I managed a nod. "I thought you'd never ask."

Sean cupped my face with one hand, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. He leaned in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull back if I wanted to. But pulling back was the last thing on my mind.

When his lips finally met mine, the kiss started soft, almost hesitant. Then I slid my hands up to his shoulders, drawing him closer, and something seemed to ignite between us. The kiss deepened, his arm tightening around my waist as my fingers slid into his hair.

I'd had good kisses before, but this—this was something else entirely. This was the kind of kiss that made me forget we were in a crowded club, that made the world narrow down to just the points where our bodies connected, the soft pressure of his lips against mine, the warmth of his hand on my face.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both slightly breathless. Sean's eyes were darker now, pupils dilated, and I was sure mine looked the same.

"Was that selective enough for you?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips that didn't quite hide the genuine attraction in his eyes.

I nodded, not trusting my voice just yet. Part of me wanted to suggest leaving together, but the rational side of my brain warned me to slow down. We'd only just met, after all.

We danced for a while after that, not the grinding type of dancing happening on the main floor, but something slower, more intimate. His hands stayed respectfully at my waist, and we talked more between songs, stealing occasional kisses that left me increasingly light-headed.

Eventually, my friends found me, ready to head home. I reluctantly pulled away from Sean, suddenly aware of how much time had passed.

"I should get going," I said, gesturing to my waiting friends.

"Yeah, me too." Was it my imagination, or did he sound as regretful as I felt?

For a moment, I almost asked for his number, the words on the tip of my tongue. But something held me back—maybe the fear of breaking the perfect bubble we'd created, or the worry that outside of this club, the magic wouldn't hold.

"It was nice meeting you, Sean," I said instead.

"You too, Lucas." He leaned in for one more brief kiss. "Maybe I'll see you here again at the club."

"Maybe," I agreed.

As I walked away to join my friends, I couldn't help glancing back once. Sean was still standing where I'd left him, watching me go with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. I raised my hand in a small wave, and he returned it, that now-familiar half-smile playing on his lips.