His hair was a dive into millions of feathers. It was black and curly and smelled of beer. The softness coiled around my fingertips. It was the darkness and mind-silencing music stitched to the cacophony of grinding bodies that pushed him into my arms. He was embarrassed but I was not. We shared a genuine laughter that made his chest quake and the corners of his eyes wrinkle. Nervous energy billowed off his ivory skin like a dense fog reveals a valley. His voice was hopeful. "Want to talk over drinks?" I was preoccupied with friends. I said next time.