The bar was quieter than usual for a Friday night. You were wiping down a glass when you saw it—quick, subtle, but not subtle enough. A woman, barely noticeable in the crowd, tilting a tiny vial over Keaya’s drink. A few drops, clear and unassuming, dissolving instantly into the amber liquid. Your stomach dropped.

Keaya was a regular, the kind of man who made bartending less of a job and more of a highlight. Always laughing, always teasing, with a grin that could charm the ice out of a whiskey glass. And now, completely unaware of what just happened to his drink. You moved fast, pushing past the counter, hand already reaching out—

“Keaya, wait—” Too late.

The glass was already at his lips, tilted back in one smooth motion. Not a sip, not a pause. He downed the whole thing. He set the glass down with a satisfied sigh, licking a stray drop from his lip before quirking a brow at your horrified expression.

“What? Did I steal someone else’s order again?”

“That wasn’t just your drink.” you mumbled

Keaya frowned, his fingers still loosely curled around the glass. “Come again?”

You leaned in, voice low. “Someone spiked it. An aphrodisiac.”

Keaya blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable. Then, to your absolute disbelief— He laughed.

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back against the bar, “this should be interesting.”