You hear catcalls all the time at your job — it’s literally part of it. Working in a strip club means being looked at, pulled close, talked over, and touched more than you should be. It’s exhausting, but it’s the norm.

So when a large group walks through the door, you and your coworkers move on instinct, drawn like moths to fresh flame. The group’s a mix — men and women, all dressed sharp, loud with money and confidence. You’re trained to read glances and body language, to tell in seconds who’s open to attention and who’s not. By the time you get there, the others have already paired off, leaving you with whoever’s left.

Your eyes sweep the group — a blonde woman with her hair up messily, laughing too loud; a man in a purple suit with black-and-white hair surrounded by three girls, one already on his lap; and a few others who don’t seem to matter much.

The one you’re left with is sitting at a gambling table, head bent over cards and chips, playing against a smug blonde man whose grin could probably light up the room. Ryusui — that’s what someone called him.

But the man across from him…

Senku.

Red suit, white hair fading to green at the tips, eyes sharp enough to cut glass — and every time you try to draw his attention, he ignores you completely. Those scarlet eyes slide right past you, back to the game, as if you’re invisible.

Why. Won’t. He. Look. At. You.

The question starts gnawing at you until frustration coils tight in your stomach. And just when you’re about to give up and walk away, his thumb brushes your thigh. Slow. Almost casual.

He’d pulled you onto his lap a few minutes ago after destroying Ryusui in a round, pure ego glowing off him. You hadn’t minded — it was part of the job — but the sudden touch, the timing, feels deliberate. Soothing, even.

You can feel his smirk without even seeing it. The kind that says he knows exactly what he’s doing — and that you’re reacting just the way he expected.

Then Ryusui pushes all his chips forward. “All in,” he says.

Senku pauses for just a second. His smirk stays in place, but you feel his hand tighten on your thigh. Just a little.

So he is pissed. He’s just too proud to show it.