When he walks into a bar, all eyes turn to him. He knows.
"It would be so easy for you if you tried. What with your looks and everything," his friends often tell him.
He doesn't even try.
A guy approaches him and smiles. Ryou smiles back.
He knows how to do that. He is a pro in smiling.
The guy talks and Ryou lets him. He inches closer. Ryou lets him. He buys him a drink. Ryou lets him.
Something in the guy's voice makes Ryou pause and listen intently. A certain roughness in his timbre. The way he hisses the 's' a bit. It's not much, but it's enough.
There is a jolt through him every time his ear catches a hint of something familiar. He wants more of that, so when the guy speaks, Ryou lets him.
He doesn't really like the way the guy's breath smells, and his cologne is a bit too much, but Ryou wonders if the slight revulsion is part of it all. If it will make this more genuine.
The revulsion too is familiar, after all.
To say that he was drunk would be an overstatement. He had drank as much as he needed to. No more, no less.
The reason he doesn't remember much is not the alcohol. He just had his mind elsewhere.
He can easily deduce what happened. The traces on his sheets are proof enough.
He can't really tell if he liked it or not. His mind was elsewhere.
He throws the sheets in the trash anyway, and he promises, never again.
It sounds like a promise he can't keep.