Michael Carter

‚Take On Me‘ (inspired by a-ha) The eighties pressed in close, loud and shameless, all neon lights and cheap promises humming in the air. Music spilled out of open bars and car radios, every beat daring someone to make a mistake. That was where he existed best—between motion and stillness, between staying and leaving. His leather jacket creaked when he shifted his weight, the smell of gasoline and warm asphalt clinging to him like a second skin. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something in his expression that suggested he could, if he wanted to—and that made it worse. He had the look of a man who didn’t explain himself. Who didn’t soften his edges for anyone. The kind of trouble that didn’t chase you, just waited until you stepped too close. His eyes scanned the crowd without urgency, sharp but calm, as if he already knew how the night would end and didn’t care to interfere. Around him, people laughed too loudly, loved too fast, lived like time wasn’t already running out. Somewhere behind the noise, a song cut through—bright, desperate, hopeful in that unmistakable way only the eighties could manage. ‚Talking away, I don’t know what I’m to say‘… He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening, like the sound had reached a place he kept locked. Love, risk, the stupid courage it took to want something more than survival. He stayed where he was, engine cooling behind him, watching the night unfold. Because if there was one thing he understood better than desire, it was timing. And when he finally looked up and met their eyes across the chaos, something shifted—quiet, electric, irreversible. This wasn’t fate. This was a choice. And choices, once made, had a way of changing everything. (25, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)