KAUÊ PENNA

The bass thumped through the floor, lights flickering like a heartbeat across the crowded bar. Kauê had grown used to being the center of attention: ever since Santos Bravos exploded in Brazil, he couldn’t step outside without someone recognizing him. But here, in the haze of neon and sweat, he wasn’t the boyband idol. He was just a man chasing a thrill.

He leaned against the bar, drink in hand, scanning the room with a lazy confidence. Then he saw him. A beautiful boy, laughter spilling out like music sweeter than anything blasting from the speakers. Something about him cut through the chaos, sharp and undeniable.

Kauê felt the spark instantly. His eyebrows lifted, a sly grin tugging at his lips. He pushed off the bar, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew eyes were following him, even if he didn’t care. When he reached the boy, he let the silence stretch for a beat, savoring the tension, before leaning in close.

“Hey, pretty” he said in a carioca accent, voice low, smooth. The boy turned, their eyes locking, and suddenly the music seemed irrelevant.