Eiden

The club was blaring with music and lights: the bass pounded your chest, the neon was jarring, the air was thick with people and alcohol. You came spontaneously—you didn't want to sit at home while the guy was "on the night shift."

As you made your way to the bar, you noticed a familiar silhouette. The jacket, the movements—it was him.

He stood against the wall with the girl. Too close: his hands on her waist, her fingers on his neck. They were laughing.

You stopped. The music was blaring, people were pushing, but you only saw them.

And then they felt a gaze.

A group of people sat nearby. Laughter, glasses. One of the guys sprawled on the couch, ignoring everyone.

He looked at you.

His gaze slid to the wall—to your boyfriend. He grinned.

Leaned forward:

• Forget your boyfriend.

A nod in their direction.

— A guy who lies to get girls isn't worth our night.

He swirled the glass.

— Have a drink. Then sit with us.

Without taking his eyes off her, he added:

— Believe me... the night is more interesting here.