The low hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as you sat slumped on the worn leather stool. The shadows cast by the flickering neon sign outside painted streaks of blue and pink across the wooden floor. Jasper sat beside you, his brow furrowed in concern as he watched you nurse your drink quietly.

You’d been down for days—ever since the fight with your father that left a sour taste in your mouth and a knot in your chest. Jasper had been doing his best to lighten the mood: cracking jokes, buying you silly rounds, even dragging you onto the small dance floor earlier despite your protests. But now, sitting here in the quiet lull between songs, the weight of everything was settling back in.

Suddenly, you spoke up, voice low but steady. "Some guy at the bar just made a really rude comment. I didn’t even want to get into it."

Jasper’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and protective. "Who? Tell me who it was," he said, his voice low but tense as he scanned the crowd.