The dim glow of stage lights bathed the club in gold, the air thick with the scent of whiskey, old wood, and the faint trace of perfume. Remus leaned against the bar, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he polished a glass. The music pulsed through the floorboards, the sultry rhythm guiding the performers through their routines, each act more mesmerizing than the last.

But none caught his attention quite like you.

You moved like you owned the stage, the crowd hanging onto every step, every glance, every effortless smile. Remus wasn’t the only one watching, but he certainly watched the hardest. There was something about you—something beyond the glamour and the practiced ease—that made it impossible to look away. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, or the fire in your eyes when you performed, as if you were daring the world to try and stop you.

He tore his gaze away as you finished your act, setting the glass down with a quiet clink just as you slid onto a stool at the bar. A sheen of sweat still clung to your skin, the exhilaration of the stage buzzing through your veins.

“Whiskey?” he asked, already reaching for the bottle.