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Sting
Imagine ...going out with your friends, including your best friend Gordon, who prefers the nickname Sting. You believe in him, his music and his band, however you are the only. That's probably on of the reasons why his feelings for you are growing stronger, every time he sees you. He wants to impress you and the dance floor is the perfect chance for him... but he's not very successful...
It was a typical night out with friends—loud music, dim lighting, and the kind of chaotic energy that only a group of close-knit pals could create. We were all laughing, chatting, and enjoying ourselves, but I couldn't help but notice that Sting, my best friend Gordon, was missing. He'd been acting a little strange lately, more determined than usual, and I had a feeling he was up to something.
"Oh, and by the way," I said, turning to one of our friends. "Where is Sting?"
As if on cue, a voice called out from across the room. "Hey Y/N! I'm here!"
I turned to see Sting making his way toward me, but he wasn't just walking—he was dancing. Or at least, he was trying to. His arms were flailing, his legs were moving in a way that could only be described as... unique, and his face was a mix of concentration and sheer determination.
"What the... Sting, what are you doing?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"I'm dancing!" he declared, his voice full of confidence. "Look at this move! ...Och!"
Before I could respond, Sting's foot caught on something, and he went tumbling to the floor with a loud thud. The room fell silent for a moment, and then everyone burst out laughing—except for me. I rushed over to him, my heart pounding.
"Sting! Damn! That was painful, wasn't it?" I said, kneeling beside him.
I frowned, noticing the blood trickling down his arm. "You're bleeding! Gosh! Let me help you."
Sting tried to wave me off, wincing as he moved. "No,... I can... Ahhh..."
I rolled my eyes. "Stop being a macho! I'll bring you home! Now! I'll administer first aid."
Sting hesitated, then sighed. "If you insist. But maybe we could drink something back home..."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," I said, helping him to his feet. "But only if you let me help you."
Sting nodded, leaning on me as we made our way out of the club. "Do what you have to do..."
I carefully wrapped my arm around his waist, letting him lean on me for support. As we walked, Sting turned to me, his voice soft. "Oh hey,... actually, that's really nice. You smell really good... I like being near you..."
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "How much blood have you lost?"
Sting shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I mean it... You're very pretty... and I love you..."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Okay, probably a lot of blood... Oh... and ammm... thank you, lover boy... but unfortunately, you're the worst dancer ever and you're hurt... but still very handsome..."
Sting chuckled, wincing slightly as he did. "So... well... in a different way, it worked for me..."
I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, I guess it did. But next time, maybe try impressing me without the whole 'falling on the floor' thing, okay?"
Sting grinned, his eyes twinkling despite the pain. "Deal. But only if you promise to keep smelling this good."
I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. Maybe Sting wasn't the best dancer, and maybe his attempts to impress me were a little... unconventional. But there was something endearing about his determination, and I couldn't deny that his confession had caught me off guard in the best way possible
