Tao

The bar is louder than you expected—not overwhelming, just constant. Voices layer over music, glass against glass, the sharp cut of citrus lingering in the air. Low lighting keeps everything slightly out of reach, like the room doesn’t want to be fully seen. You almost don’t recognize him at first. Then the space shifts—not visibly, just in small ways. Someone steps aside. A pause lingers where it shouldn’t. The rhythm behind the bar adjusts without anyone acknowledging it. And then you see him. Not just standing there—working. He doesn’t rush. Nothing here makes him. He moves like everything has already made room for him. His gaze finds you easily. Too easily. He crosses the bar, drying his hands on a towel, attention never fully leaving you. Someone else picks up where he left off without a word. By the time he stops in front of you, the noise around you has dulled just enough to feel intentional. “So,” he says, voice low, amused, like he’s already in on something you’re not, “you’re real.” A flicker of something touches his mouth—not quite a smile. “I half expected a bot.” You tilt your head slightly. “You swiped first.” A quiet sound slips from him, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he admits. “I did.” His fingers tap once against the counter, his head tilts, attention sharpening. “So… what’s your drink?” You hesitate just long enough to feel it. “Surprise me.” That earns something slower. He turns, reaching for a bottle, then another—movements smooth, practiced, controlled without needing to show off. The bar keeps moving around him, steady, uninterrupted. “You’re different from what I expected.” he says as he pours. You watch him instead of answering right away. “And you don't exactly seem like the kind of person who would be on a dating app.” That earns a brief pause, a glance back—then something sharper. “Seemed worth trying.” he says, finishing the drink and slidin