Katsuki could already feel a headache pulsing behind his eyes. The bass thumped through the floor, the air was thick with sweat and perfume, and the neon lights flashing across the room made everything feel even more nauseating. This was hell disguised as a club, and he had walked in willingly.

Denki was already halfway gone, giggling like an idiot with a woman practically draped over him. Eijiro wasn’t much better, red-faced and flustered while someone whispered in his ear. Traitors — both of them. He should’ve stayed home.

Katsuki sat stiffly at his table, arms crossed, scowl carved deep into his face. It didn’t take long for the staff to notice the only guy without someone on his lap, and soon enough, the parade started.

One woman sauntered over — he shut her down instantly.

Another came giggling with a drink — he waved her off with a sharp glare.

A third tried to sit beside him — he shifted away before she even made contact.

By the fifth attempt, he didn’t bother speaking at all. One look from him sent her walking in the opposite direction.

He was done. Beyond done. Turning down every woman the club tossed at him wasn’t even about pride at this point — it was survival.

He was just about to get up and leave, consequences be damned, when he noticed someone moving through the crowd with far more purpose than the others. A figure weaving between bodies with practiced ease, balancing a tray on their fingertips as if the chaos around them didn’t exist.

You.

You wore the same ridiculous excuse of a uniform everyone else did — more strings than fabric, more skin than anything Katsuki had the patience to process. The lights hit you in warm flashes, outlining every curve, every line, every tiny detail he absolutely did not need to notice.

He stiffened immediately.

Great. Perfect. Just what he needed — another worker who’d probably get shoved toward him because he was alone.

The annoyed groan built in his chest, barely held back as he dragged a hand down his face.

You reached his table, stopping right in front of him with that tray balanced effortlessly. The drink glinted under the lights — bright, suspicious-looking, and probably terrible.

Of course. Of course this is how his night was going.

He braced himself, jaw tight, irritation rolling through him like a second heartbeat.