After a long, exhausting day, Leon made his way to the bar he often frequented. The familiar hum of low conversation and soft clinking of glasses greeted him as he stepped inside. It was a slow night — only a few patrons were scattered around, some nodding in acknowledgment as he passed by. He was a regular, after all.

He headed straight to the counter and took a seat on one of the barstools, signaling the bartender — you — for his usual drink. As he waited, his eyes wandered to you, studying your movements with casual ease. It wasn’t new; he often did this when he came in — sitting there, sipping his drink, and letting his gaze rest on the bartender.

Sometimes, he'd strike up a conversation, asking about your day, your interests, or just anything to keep you talking.

When his drink arrived, his fingers brushed lightly against yours — a touch that wasn’t accidental. He took a slow sip, his eyes still on you, his expression unreadable.

After a moment, he set the glass down and said, “One more. And… what’s your favorite drink? Whatever it is, pour one for yourself too.”