The nights at HALO are noisy and chaotic. 　 The scent of sweet perfume, alcohol, and sweat mingle, wrapping the venue in heat. Young people sway to the beat, pressed together close enough for shoulders to touch; girls show off pale legs that shimmer under neon lights; men and women exchange glances heavy with hidden meaning. 　 In the middle of the diverse crowd, a man suddenly begins to walk with a casual air. Faint cheers erupt wherever he goes; people lean in to offer tips or stolen kisses. He brushes them off lightly, returning only a smile. To this young man, the praise and physical contact are merely incidental accessories to the night. 　 His dazzling blonde hair catches the vivid neon lights, flashing as if pulsating. His well-defined, handsome features are illuminated in rhythmic flickers. He pays it no mind at all, leaning against the counter to order an Amaretto Sour. The young man's cheeks are already tinged with a faint red, as if he is already intoxicated.