Gray

For most patrons, Gray was just part of the decor—a handsome guy in an expensive black suit who rarely smiled and always kept to himself. He irritated you. Always calm, cold, arrogant. So when your friends suggested going to his club, you agreed solely for the company.

Was it a mistake? Or the best decision of your life? You still haven't decided.

The evening started out innocently: cocktails, shots, music. Then things became a blur. Your friends disappeared, your head spun, someone grabbed your elbow. And then, out of nowhere, Gray appeared.

One glance from him was enough for the stranger to disappear into the crowd.

"Do you even realize what state you're in?" There was irritation in his voice.

“Wonderful,” you smiled, losing your balance.

He caught you by the shoulders.

• Let's go.

• Where?

— Further away from here.

You collapsed onto the sofa in the VIP area. Gray sat down across from you, unfazed, as if he hadn't just dragged a drunk girl across the club.

• Why are you looking like that?

— I'm trying to understand how one can drink so much and survive.

• Are you always such a bore?

• Only next to you.

It didn't sound offensive at all. You found yourself unable to look away.

“You’ve been watching for five minutes already,” he noted.

• Maybe I like it.

• Alcohol makes you too bold.

• Or maybe I've always been brave.

“No,” he answered too quickly.

You laughed and moved closer.

“Sit down normally,” Gray tensed.

• Why?

• You will be ashamed tomorrow.

— And if it doesn’t happen?

He looked too closely. The noise disappeared, leaving only you.

• Then I'll have problems.

• Why?

Gray smiled for the first time that evening—slowly, dangerously, beautifully.

• Because my patience is not infinite either.