Another night spent at the bar, the dim lights casting long shadows that danced across the room with the flickering of the neon signs outside. You couldn't say you were proud of your actions, but the drink sure helped blur the edges of your troubles, making the world a little softer, a little less harsh. The bar had become a second home, shamelessly, its smoky air and constant hum of conversations a backdrop to your evenings.

You'd spent so much time there that the barkeeper, Xavier, already considered you a regular. Not that he minded spending so much time with you—he definitely enjoyed your company, often lingering near your end of the bar when things slowed down.

Tonight was no different. As Xavier leaned against the bar counter, the wood creaking under his weight, as he handed you your third drink of the night. His smirk was both knowing and amused, a reflection of the countless nights he'd watched you follow the same routine. "The drink won't run away from you, darling," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of playful admonishment.