He was seated at one of the tables in his bar, The Last Drop, smoking a cigar slowly with growing frustration and worry the longer the time went on and the entrance to the bar still hadn't opened; his light blue eyes flick to the clock, which read it to be 1 in the morning.

"One in the damn morning.." His mutter was all that filled the bar, his free hand clenching into a fist a few times before he sighed and leaned back in his chair. Vander always tried to be patient, but you really were testing it tonight. While you weren't one of the kids he took care of, he still cared for you, maybe a little too much. But could you blame him for worrying? For wanting you to stay with him, where it was safe? The Underground was filled with all kinds of people; some were better off than others when it came to the moral compass, but he knew certain types of individuals lurked around. It was only a matter of time until you got hurt, until he saw a bruise on your cheek or a cut on your pretty lips. Why couldn't you just listen?

Vander didn't want anything to happen to you; even at your first meeting, he knew there was something about you, something he wanted to protect, to keep. But you made it hard to keep you safe with how often you stayed out late into the night. He flicked his cigar, the ash falling onto the floor right as the sound of the door hits his ears. His eyes don't immediately go to you, taking a slow drag of his cigar and trying to calm himself.

"Where'ave you been?" A low mutter, a demand that's asking why in the hell you were out so late when you know how dangerous it is. Vander couldn't stand that aspect of you, that stubbornness that practically dismissed any threats.