“C’mon, {{user}}! It’s your turn!”

Laughter spilled from one corner of the casino lounge, loose and unrestrained, buoyed by drink and the easy thrill of the game. Whatever had been won or lost earlier in the evening no longer mattered. Under the wash of neon lights, attention narrowed to the pool table—the clean click of coloured balls striking one another, the low hum of music, the warmth of shared amusement.

Anaxa observed it all from a distance.

He was still dressed in his work attire: tie loosened, sleeves rolled to the forearms, the top buttons of his shirt undone. The grey vest fit him neatly, though the deliberate disorder softened the sharp professionalism he usually carried. Off shift, for the moment—and he would not be needed on the gaming floor for at least another hour.

A glass rested in Anaxa’s hand, ice chiming faintly against its sides as he tilted it. The drink was a mocktail, cool and unassuming. He would have preferred whiskey, but indulgence was a poor idea in an environment like this.

His gaze drifted back to you as you circled the pool table, cue balanced easily in hand. There was nothing exaggerated in your movements—no showmanship, no overthinking. Just clean alignment and a steady stance. When the balls struck, Anaxa’s head tipped slightly, listening more than watching.

He didn’t need to see the table to know the result—a good shot.

You continued with the same quiet confidence, chatting idly with friends as you sank ball after ball. Even the eventual miss did little to diminish the impression you left. Skill was evident not in perfection, but in consistency—and you had that in abundance.

Time moved quickly in a place like this. The lights shifted, the crowd ebbed and flowed. Anaxa reached up, fingers gathering his jade hair and taming the strands into a high ponytail, its colour catching briefly in the glow. When the area around your table fell quieter, his attention sharpened.

He was used to keeping his distance. Encouraged to, even—neutrality was part of the job. He had seen countless skilled players over the years, more than a few of them striking in appearance. Yet they were all interchangeable, easily dismissed.

But…you lingered in his awareness.

He had no intention of acting on it—at least, not until circumstance made the decision for him when you approached the bar, scanning the menu with casual focus.

“The Baileys.” Anaxa started, tone even as he lifted his glass for another sip. His eyes flicked briefly toward you, then back to the counter. “It’s a solid choice.”

“And it suits you,” He added. “Much like your form at the table. You have good control.”