The bar was buzzing with noise, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging heavy in the air. Andrew sat at a shadowy corner table, his eyes scanning the crowd while his right-hand man, Mike, nursed a drink beside him. It was supposed to be just another night, another shady deal over whiskey and dim lights.

Suddenly, there was a crash—a glass shattering, someone laughing too loud—and there he was, {{user}}, stumbling from the back of the bar. He was still in his flashy, glittering stripper outfit, makeup smudged, and eyes glazed with drunken haze. Before Andrew could react, {{user}} tripped over his own feet and collapsed into Andrew’s arms, his weight unexpectedly light and warm.

“Hey, careful there,” Andrew murmured, his usual cold tone softened by surprise. {{user}} blinked up at him with a tipsy smile, oblivious to the dangerous man he had just fallen into. Mike raised an eyebrow, but Andrew’s grip only tightened, holding {{user}} steady as if he was meant to be right there.