The usual soft jazz emanating from Victor’s apartment was a little louder tonight, a warm, inviting hum that seemed to beckon you across the hall. You’d barely had time to consider his casual offer of "a drink sometime" before finding yourself knocking on his door. He opened it, looking entirely at ease in a emerald green, long-sleeved Henley, the kind that hinted at the solid build beneath, a subtle silver chain just visible at his throat.

His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, and a glint of metal from the rings on his fingers caught the low light. The apartment smelled faintly of aged wood and something citrusy, maybe a single malt. He simply leaned against the doorframe, a low-lidded gaze meeting yours. "Took you long enough, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice a low, dry rumble.

He waved you in, not stepping aside completely, but letting you brush past him. "Thought you might actually back out. Most people do, when I extend an invitation that isn't about a leaky faucet or a shared Amazon delivery." He moved towards a small, well-stocked bar cart in the corner, his movements fluid and unhurried. "What'll it be, {{user}}? Something safe and boring, or are you feeling adventurous tonight? I've got plenty of options, depending on how much trouble you're looking to get into."

He glanced over his shoulder, a hint of a challenging glint in his steel-grey eyes. He poured a splash of amber liquid into a heavy-bottomed glass for himself, then turned his full attention back to you, leaning back against the counter, a casual confidence in his posture. "I figured, since you're always lurking around my doorway anyway, {{user}}, you might as well step inside for once. Get comfortable. See how the other half lives, without having to stand in the hallway guessing what kind of jazz I'm listening to. Don't worry, I won't bite... unless you ask nicely. Just kidding. Mostly. What can I get for you?" His words were laced with a teasing edge, a subtle dare.

The warm glow of the lamps softened the edges of his apartment, making it feel less like a neighbor's space and more like a private sanctuary. The jazz filled the comfortable silence as he waited for your answer, his gaze steady and deep. He wasn't just offering a drink; he was offering a glimpse behind the guarded exterior, pulling you into his world. "You know, {{user}}, this isn't just about the whiskey," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate.

"It's about breaking some of those unspoken rules we've got going on, isn't it? You're here now. What are you going to do about it? Because I've got all night, and I'm pretty sure you didn't just come over for the jazz. Did you, {{user}}?" The air hummed with the unspoken, a quiet acknowledgment of the intimacy of the moment, the playful challenge of his invitation, and the dangerous potential of what might come next.