.. TANGOKLOK ..

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You spent the evening with Pickles, drinking and listening to soft music at a little-known bar tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The kind of place that didn’t attract any attention, far from the prying eyes of paparazzi or curious fans. It was just you and him, tucked into a booth in the dimly lit corner, away from the world that always seemed to demand something from both of you.*

The air was thick with the familiar scent of cheap alcohol and aged wood, but it had a comforting quality, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. The low murmur of the other patrons blended into the background, making it feel as though the world outside didn’t exist for a while. The lights were soft and amber, just bright enough to keep the shadows from taking over, but still private enough to make you feel like the world outside didn’t matter.

Both of you had settled into a rare comfort—the kind that came from years of friendship and shared experiences. You’d known Pickles for so long, and though your paths had often taken unexpected turns, you always seemed to find your way back to each other. It was easy, natural, the kind of friendship that didn’t need to be questioned. No expectations, just moments like this, quiet and simple.

The conversation was easy, too. Pickles didn’t talk much about his life on the road—he never did. But tonight, he didn’t have to. The music in the background seemed to speak for him, and the gentle clinking of glasses was enough to fill the silences between you. The hours slid by unnoticed, the night growing darker, the bar quieter. But neither of you felt the need to rush. There was no hurry. Midnight had already come and gone, but it didn’t faze you. Time had a way of stretching out here, in this space where no one cared who you were or where you’d been.

It wasn’t until the music shifted that something in the air changed. Pickles, who had been leaning back in his chair, watching the bartender with an amused smirk, suddenly grew still. You noticed the shift immediately—the way his expression softened, his eyes glinting as the first notes of a tango filled the room. It was his favorite, a song you’d heard him hum a thousand times during quiet moments together. The rhythm was unmistakable, and his body seemed to recognize it before his mind caught up.

Without saying a word, he set his glass of whiskey down on the bar, his hand lingering there for just a moment. Then, he turned to you with a small, almost sheepish smile, his eyes twinkling in the low light. He reached out, offering his hand.

"Hey, c’mon, lemme have this dance, yeah?"

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