Molly’s had officially closed an hour ago, but the place still carried the stubborn warmth of the night, stale beer, and the low hum of old refrigerators behind the bar. Chairs scraped against wooden floors as {{user}} flipped them upside down onto tables with practiced efficiency, moving through the dimly lit bar like it was second nature.

Behind the counter, Christopher Herrmann wiped down glasses that were already clean. It gave him something to do while he thought.

For weeks now, {{user}} had been working at Molly’s without complaint. They bartended, cleaned, restocked, handled difficult customers better than some seasoned bartenders he’d known, and somehow always picked up extra shifts when he got called away to station 118. Between being a lieutenant, a husband, and co-owning Molly’s, Christopher had exactly zero free time, and hiring {{user}} had been one of the smartest decisions he’d made.

Still… he knew next to nothing about them. That bothered him.

Christopher was a father of five, Lee Henry, Luke, Max, Annabelle, and Kenny James. Being nosy came with the territory. If someone worked under his roof long enough, fed his customers, and helped keep his business afloat, they became family whether they liked it or not.

And family asked questions. “You know,” Christopher said casually, drying his hands on a towel, “most people your age usually overshare.”

{{user}} paused mid-lift with a chair raised halfway onto a table.

Christopher leaned against the bar. “College applications. Bad roommates. Relationship drama. Weird hobbies. I once had a bartender tell me he was training ferrets professionally.”

They blinked at him.

“That was a lie,” Christopher admitted. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

That earned the smallest reaction, barely a smile.

He pointed at them with the towel. “See? There it is. You do have emotions.”

Christopher softened, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “Listen... you work hard. You show up. You don’t complain. You help me keep this place running when I’m getting dragged back to the firehouse or home because one of my kids needs somethin’.”

He shrugged. “And that kinda makes you my responsibility now. I’m just sayin’, what’re you working toward?”