Nightclub, 9:00 PM...

Stan sat at the bar, swirling his drink in his hand, his frustration growing with every sip. He had lost a bet—something that rarely happened—and it was eating him up inside. He had bet that Dean would come home early from work, but thanks to the rain, Dean never showed. Now, Stan’s so-called "friends" were back at the bar, mocking him over his loss. He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his anger along with the alcohol.

Stupid bet, he thought bitterly, downing the last of his drink. He should have known better. If only he had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t be sitting here, humiliated and angry. With a sigh, Stan signaled the bartender for another round. Tonight was a night to forget.

As the bartender poured his drink, Stan felt a presence next to him. He glanced up to see a guy standing close by, staring at him with an easy smile.

“Hey,” the guy said, his voice friendly.

Stan looked away without responding, hoping the guy would take the hint. But instead, the stranger sat down next to him, his gaze lingering on Stan.

Stan couldn’t ignore him anymore. “What?” he snapped, finally meeting the guy’s eyes.

The guy just smiled, turning to the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he said, before looking back at Stan, who was still glaring at him.

“I noticed you were alone,” the guy continued, “so I thought I’d come over for a chat. Hope you don’t mind.”

Stan didn’t respond, taking another sip of his drink and willing himself to relax. He was in no mood to talk, but the guy didn’t seem to care. The bartender placed their drinks in front of them, and Stan took his in one gulp. The alcohol burned its way down, but it wasn’t enough to drown out his irritation.

Just then, the guy leaned in closer. “If you don’t mind… can I have your number?”

Stan froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He stared at the guy in disbelief before setting the glass down. Without a word, he stood up and walked away, leaving the stranger behind. He didn’t need this—didn’t want this. All he wanted was to forget tonight and go home.

But as he made his way toward the exit, the world around him started to blur. The alcohol had hit him harder than he realized, and his steps grew unsteady. Just as he was about to stumble, a hand caught him, steadying him before he could fall.

“Hey, let me help you,” a voice said, gentle and concerned.

Stan blinked, looking up to see the same guy who had been at the bar. The stranger’s smile was soft now, almost reassuring. Stan was too drunk to protest as the guy led him outside, guiding him to his car.

The ride was a blur. Stan’s head swam as the streets rushed past the windows, the world outside blending into one long, hazy streak of lights and shadows. When the car finally stopped, Stan looked around, trying to make sense of where he was.

“This… this isn’t my house,” he slurred, his voice thick with confusion.

The guy chuckled, helping him out of the car. “No, it’s mine,” he said, leading Stan inside with a steady hand. “But don’t worry, you’ll be safe here.”

Stan wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. His body felt heavy, his mind foggy. Before he knew it, the guy had taken him to a room and was trying to lay him down on the bed. But instead of lowering him gently, they both tumbled onto the mattress, their bodies colliding in the dim light.

Stan’s eyes fluttered open, and he found himself face-to-face with the stranger. Their lips had brushed during the fall, and for a moment, they both froze, staring at each other in the quiet room. The air between them seemed to thicken with tension.

The guy’s gaze was intense, and Stan’s heart pounded in response. Without thinking, Stan reached up, placing his hand on the guy’s chest. He felt the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Stan moved closer, pressing his lips to the guy’s once more. It was a soft kiss, a tentative exploration. When he pulled away, he whispered, “Can you make me forget my sad day?”

The guy chuckled, his breath warm against Stan’s skin. He started to undo Stan’s shirt, his fingers brushing lightly over his chest as he leaned in to kiss his neck. Stan’s pulse quickened, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around the guy’s neck, pulling him closer.

As the guy continued undressing him, Stan’s mind flickered with conflicting thoughts. He hadn’t planned for this—hadn’t expected to end up in a stranger’s bed. But now, as the night unfolded, he found himself giving in to the moment, letting the alcohol and the warmth of another body drown out his troubled thoughts.

Their eyes locked again, and this time, Stan found the courage to take control. He pushed the guy onto his back, climbing on top of him, his lips trailing from the man’s neck down to his chest, each kiss more urgent than the last. The stranger’s body responded eagerly, and soon, their clothes lay discarded on the floor.

“You’re sexy,” the guy whispered into Stan’s ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Stan’s spine.

But just as they were about to go further, something inside Stan shifted. A memory flashed in his mind—something dark, something painful. His breath hitched, and his body tensed, the warmth of the moment suddenly turning cold.

The guy noticed and paused, his hands stilling on Stan’s body. “Hey… are you okay?” he asked gently. “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do this.”

For a moment, Stan considered pulling away, stopping everything before it went too far. But then, the weight of the night pressed down on him—the alcohol, the frustration, the need to forget. Without a word, he leaned back in, pressing his lips to the guy’s once more, choosing to silence the doubts in his mind.

We all know what happens next. Let’s skip that part.

The next morning, Stan woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. His head throbbed, and his body ached in strange ways. Blinking away the fog of sleep, he glanced around the room, trying to piece together the events of the night before. He remembered being at the bar… meeting someone… and then…

A soft, warm hand wrapped around his waist, and Stan froze. He slowly turned his head, only to find the guy from last night lying beside him, a satisfied smile on his face. Panic shot through Stan’s veins, and before he could stop himself, he let out a scream.

The guy jolted awake, startled by the sudden noise. They both sat up, wide-eyed and confused, staring at each other in shock.

Stan quickly grabbed the sheets, pulling them up to cover himself. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice shaky.

The guy chuckled, sitting up as well. “I’m Phillip,” he said casually, as if waking up with strangers was the most normal thing in the world. “And you’re Stan, right?”

Stan’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to remember. The pieces were slowly falling into place, but they still didn’t make sense. “Did we…?”

Phillip’s smile widened. “Yes, we did. Don’t you remember?”

Stan’s face flushed with embarrassment. He quickly got out of bed, grabbing his clothes and dressing as fast as he could. “Forget this ever happened,” he muttered, avoiding Phillip’s gaze.

But just as Stan was about to make his escape, Phillip grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Wait,” he said, his voice softening. “Can I have your number?”

Stan yanked his arm away, shaking his head. “No. This… this was a mistake.” Without another word, he bolted out of the room, not daring to look back.

As he hurried down the street, Phillip stood at the window, watching him go. A small smile played on his lips as he whispered to himself, “I hope to see you again someday.”

Phillip leaned back against the window, a satisfied look in his eyes. He couldn’t stop smiling. Somehow, he knew this wasn’t the last time he’d see Stan. He had found what he’d been looking for—he was sure of it—and he wouldn’t stop until Stan was his.