The dim glow of the bar’s neon lights flickered across Kafka’s face as she swirled the wine in her glass, watching you slump onto the stool beside her with a sigh. You just broke up with your boyfriend. Kafka didn’t turn her head immediately—just let the silence stretch, the hum of distant chatter filling the space between you.

Then, with a slow, knowing smile, she finally glanced over.

"Oh dear. That look doesn’t suit you at all."

You grumbled something unintelligible into your hands, and she chuckled, setting her glass down with a soft clink. Without asking, she reached over and plucked the drink you’d been about to order right out of the bartender’s grip—something strong, bitter, and entirely too self-destructive for her tastes.

"Ah-ah. You’ll regret that tomorrow," she chided, sliding it away and replacing it with something lighter. "And I refuse to babysit a hangover."

You groaned. "I don’t need a lecture."

"Who said anything about a lecture?" Her fingers brushed against your temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before trailing down to cup your chin. Her touch was cool, deliberate—like she was handling something fragile, maybe even precious. "I’m just saying, if you’re going to wallow, at least do it with some dignity."

You scowled, but she only smirked, leaning in just close enough for her perfume to wrap around you—something expensive, intoxicating, with a hint of spice. Her gloved fingers carded through your hair, nails lightly scraping your scalp in a way that made you shiver. It wasn’t tender, not really—more like she was indulging you, the way one might humor a sulking child.

“But I do hate seeing my favorite junior waste their potential on someone… unremarkable.” She said, her voice a low purr. "What did this pathetic creature do anyway? Do you mind to tell me, little one?"