Ian couldn't help but flinch a little at the sudden presence.
His entire body was swallowed by the man's shadow.
'What in the skyscraper?!'
Ian kept stealing glances as he sipped his drink. He was already a little tipsy, so he couldn't get a perfectly clear view of the behemoth next to him. What he could see was an infuriatingly sharp jawline, the dark shadow of a five o'clock shadow, and eyes like chips of sapphire that gleamed whenever they caught the bar light.
Ian immediately ran a diagnostic check in his head:
Face card: Check.
Body: Check.
Presence: Check.
'Personality: Chec—wait. Don't know that yet.'
Ian continued his inspection in a manner so profoundly aggressive and unsubtle that the subject of his intense staring obviously noticed.
'Damn! Some people really win the genetic lottery,' Ian thought bitterly. 'They say God doesn't have favorites, but then how do you explain this absolute specimen?'
"Maybe he just views everyone with the same eyes?"
A voice suddenly answered, startling Ian out of his skin. It was a husky, low, throaty murmur that made you question whether you were still alive or had already ascended to the other side. Ian stared, bewildered, at the man. The stranger hadn't even looked up from his own drink. Ian knew, with terrifying certainty, that those words had just come out of his own mouth.
He tilted his head, his face twisting into an expression of pure, unadulterated stupidity. "Did... did I just say that out loud?"
"Yes, you pretty much did," the man said, those blue eyes turning to drill directly into Ian's soul. "And you also won't stop staring. It's not discreet."
Ian didn't want to admit it, but his heart did a little nervous flutter.
"Ahem! Anyway... so what? It's true!" Ian hoisted his chin, immediately defaulting to his most sophisticated, peacocking expression. "Genetics aren't always on your side. Otherwise, why am I not a six-foot-one walking menace with aggressive muscle definition?"
Ian just blabbered whatever bypassed his brain filters—the natural consequence of being five glasses deep. He limited his defense to chugging the rest of his Negroni while maintaining eye contact to establish dominance.
"That's your definition of good-looking?" the man asked.
"Well, I'm not complaining about my own face. It does its job."
The man tilted his head, giving Ian a swift, analytical scan. "Well, you do have a pretty face." He finished his glass of rum. "You just came from somewhere else, right?"
"What gave it away?"
The man—whom Ian had internally designated as "Husky"—looked him up and down, suddenly making Ian intensely self-conscious.
'Ah, wait. I did dress a little suggestive tonight.'
Misinterpreting the man's gaze, Ian scrambled to clarify: "I'm not a sex worker, by the way."
"I never said you were."
Ian blinked, deflating a bit.
He didn't know someone's presence could feel this calming. Resting his chin in his hand, he sighed, "You must be really popular."
"I wouldn't know about that," Husky replied smoothly, offering a tiny, close-lipped smile.
"Because you don't care, or because it's complicated?"
"Both?" Husky countered. "But that's enough about me. You keep saying I'm favored by God, but what about you?"
"Me? Oh, please." Ian scoffed, "Do I look like a Greek god to you?"
"No, you look more like a nymph. Or maybe a siren? But then again, you're also just cute..."
"How can you say those things so casually?!" Ian gasped, offended by the weaponized charm.
"The same way you can imply I look like I crawled out of a Pierce Brosnan fever dream."
Ian opened his mouth to snap back, but closed it. 'Fair point.'
'Damn.'
'Personality: Check.'
"Sorry?" Husky asked.
"No, nothing!" Ian said, flashing a manic, wide smile.
Ian reached to take another sip of his Negroni, only to realize he was sucking air. He flagged down the bartender. "Excuse me—"
"Let me get this," Husky interrupted smoothly.
Ian felt a sudden wave of socially awkward panic. "Oh, no need—"
"Just to be clear, I'm not flirting with you," Husky clarified. "You just made my day, so the least I can do is buy you a drink." He signaled the bartender for two more glasses.
Ian pouted in deep, visceral disappointment as he contemplated the handsome man by his side "Why...?" He whispered.
"What?"
"Why won't you try flirting with me?"
Inside Ian's brain, a tiny alarms-blaring version of himself was screaming: 'IAN, THIS IS A ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY. DO NOT MISS IT. GRAB IT JUST TAKE IT AND SCORE!!!!'
Something in Husky's face shifted, his expression turning a bit more somber. He took a sip of his fresh drink. "Well, simply because I don't take other people's boyfriends."
"What do you mean?" Ian was flabbergasted.
"Wouldn't your partner get angry? And more importantly, why are you here alone? Did you guys get into a fight?"
"Huh? But... I don't have a boyfriend."
Husky frowned. "Then why—" he stopped to think for a moment.
"Are you aware that right now you reek of another person's scent? It's been actively unpleasant since we started talking."
"What?! Oh..." Ian's grip tightened on his glass as a wave of pure rage washed over him. "Yeah... THAT ANIMAL."
"?"
"No, wait, how do I explain this... well, you see..."
Ian launched into a unhinged, rapid-fire rant detailing every horrific thing that had happened to him over the last few hours. Husky listened with an increasingly fascinated expression.
"I can't believe trash like that actually exists," Husky noted.
"Right?! If you want to seduce someone, at least try to win their heart first—"
"And also, if you're ugly, you should just stop trying," Husky added smoothly.
Ian paused. 'Wait, wasn't this guy just saying God views everyone the same way?'
"HAHAHAHA!" He cackled.
And that genuine laugh earned an enchanted look from Husky who had a ghost of a smile forming in his lips.
Ian was too drunk to notice that Husky was subtly shifting his posture, leaning his shoulder in just enough to brush against Ian's. Suddenly, the air cleared. The sour, lingering stench from before was completely overwritten by a much more pleasant, grounding aroma.
'Oak? No... it's like... wood? Cedar?'
Because Ian was a recessive, his biological radar was usually garbage at distinguishing pheromones, but this scent was hitting him with such a clarity.
The moment was followed by a sweet silence.
"So, no boyfriend?"
"No boyfriend," Ian confirmed.
Internally, his brain was throwing a party: 'SINGLE!!! PRETTY MUCH SINGLE SINCE BIRTH'
The tension in the air thickened, wrapping around Ian like a warm blanket. He felt intensely vulnerable, exposed, and entirely thrilled.
It was the first time he felt something like that.
The rest of the night dissolved into a blur of laughter, smiles, and increasingly heavy drinking as their bodies instinctively gravitated toward each other. Sometimes their eyes keeper dropping to each other's mouths, sometimes there would be someone holding his breath and at times, Ian could heard clearly his own pulse.
The exact timeline of the next few minutes was completely wiped from Ian's memory. He just knew they stumbled into the nearest available room and immediately tore each other's clothes off.
And oh boy, did Ian let loose.
The next morning, Ian woke up first.
Realizing he was spooning a literal stranger, absolute panic injected straight into his veins. He grabbed his clothes in a frantic, silent scramble and bolted out the door to call a taxi. He didn't even check his phone. From that moment on, he resolved to classify that night as a "temporary lapse in sanity caused by terminal singlehood."
'HOW HORNY DO YOU HAVE TO BE?!' Ian screamed at himself in his head. 'AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHY DIDN'T WE USE A CONDOM?!'
Right at that exact second, a terrifyingly vivid core memory unlocked in his brain.
"Ngh... no... no. I w-want to... ah... feel you."
"As you wish."
*SMACK.
The sound of Ian slapping his own forehead echoed violently in the small room.
"GOD DAMN IT!"
The doctor across the desk didn't even flinch, clearly already fully familiarised to Ian's theatrical antics.
"So, Ian," the doctor sighed, tapping his pen. "I need you to think seriously about whether you want to proceed with this pregnancy."
"What?"
"Ahem...Even though it carries some risks, termination is an option at this stage. But I need you to weigh your choices carefully. It would be best if you discussed this with your partner."
"Ah? What—oh. Yes. Right."
Ian wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and disintegrate into the floorboards.
But deep down, the chaotic panic subsided into a stubborn reality.
He was going to have it.
There was absolutely no way he could let go of his own baby. Besides, Ian hated statistics. Even if there was a microscopic chance that terminating the pregnancy could permanently damage his reproductive tract, he wasn't risking it. He didn't even know if he'd ever want kids down the line, but this? This was a statistical miracle.
It was highly likely his first, only, and wildest shot at parenthood—courtesy of a Pierce Brosnan fever dream.