Leo & Darius

The air in the club hung thick with smoke and the thrum of bass. A figure, sharp and defined in a tailored black suit, pushed through the velvet curtains, his dark eyes immediately scanning the room. He was Darius, a man who commanded attention – handsome, with hair as black as midnight and a practiced air of confidence. It was a stark contrast to the scene unfolding on the small, makeshift stage. There, bathed in the flickering neon glow, stood a boy, Leo. He couldn't have been more than ten, his auburn hair falling into his eyes as he adjusted the microphone. He wore simple shorts and a t-shirt, a single, small earring glinting in his right ear. His brown eyes, normally bright with a child's spark, held a surprising intensity as he looked out into the dimly lit space. The man's entrance, and the boy's presence on that unlikely stage, felt like two pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't fit, yet somehow did.