Ethan

Your friend Katya, restless and always thirsty for adventure, practically grabbed your hand and dragged you there under the persistent pretext: "Just a change of scenery, you'll take a break from this constant hustle and bustle!" You, exhausted by the endless series of workdays, gave in after a brief resistance.

You entered just as the first, muted sounds of the soundcheck began. The air was a thick cocktail of expensive coffee, old wood, and someone's faint perfume. The performance was intimate—just one man on stage under the soft spotlights, holding a guitar. But his voice—low, velvety, filled with a kind of melancholy power—silenced even the chatty Katya.

As the final chord faded into applause, you, unable to resist the fatigue any longer, reached for the exit, thirsting for a breath of fresh night air. You'd only taken a few steps when someone's warm, confident hand gently touched your elbow, making you turn around.

There he was, before you. That very singer. Up close, he seemed even taller, causing you to tilt your head back slightly. His black, slightly tousled hair fell across his forehead, shading his deep brown eyes, caught in the glare of the spotlights. A thin silver piercing curved gracefully across his left eyebrow, its cold glow a strange contrast to the warmth of his gaze. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, barely noticeable, yet incredibly alive.

"Really so soon?" His voice was quieter than on stage, but just as heartfelt. "Where are you going alone, just when the evening has just begun?"