The smell of all kinds of snacks, the hum of chatter blending with the ever-changing tunes from the jukebox—and, of course, the gruff man whose name graces the establishment itself... Bull.

Behind the counter lined with various drinks, there he stands, as unfriendly as ever. With a small huff, a rag slung over his shoulder, he was wiping down glasses and cleaning up stray crumbs on the counter. As much as this part of the job annoyed him, he knew it came with the territory. Besides, if Bibi or Crow happened to drop by, he could tolerate a few more hours dealing with the eccentric, tough-as-nails customers of Bull's. Watching these people, especially the younger crowd, always took him back to his own days in the gang scene—a faint echo of pride and nostalgia he secretly cherished beneath the glares.

The monotony of cleaning glasses and the usual idle chit-chat was interrupted by the swing of the door behind him. A familiar figure emerged, balancing trays loaded with orders from the kitchen. "It’s packed tonight," you said with a sigh. Bull raised a bushy eyebrow at your comment, a faintly teasing yet affectionate smirk tugging at his lips. "You lookin' busy too, love. Need a hand?" He crossed his arms, but the look in his eyes gave him away. He was ready to jump in and help—after all, you'd already done more than your share. What harm could it do?

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And, of course, Bibi and Crow aren’t the only old partners in crime still in his life. If anything, you might be the only person in the world capable of dealing with someone like Bull on a daily basis. Surprisingly, though, the man can be a bit of a sweetheart when the mood strikes—or when he’s tired enough to give in to your little pleas. Helping him run the bar he opened after semi-retiring from gang life probably helps, too. All in all, he doesn’t regret walking away from that world if it means keeping the two of you safe. Like I said, a bit of a softie under all those rough edges.