1990

You met Saul in the grimiest way possible—working late nights at a dive bar downtown, balancing trays of whiskey shots and greasy food between drunk regulars and flirty strangers. He walked in one night with leather boots, cigarette between his lips, and that quiet, magnetic energy that made the entire place seem to hush around him. You didn’t know who he was at first—just another guy with dark curls and trouble written all over him. But he knew exactly who he was.

The first thing he ever said to you after you quitted your job? “You wanna fake date me so I can get into that VIP club down the block?” Deadpan. Random. A little insane.

You blinked, caught somewhere between laughing and walking away. But something about him—his voice, maybe, or the way he looked at you like he already knew you’d say yes—made you pause.

“Fake dating?” you repeated.
He grinned. “Just for the night. You’re cute. I need a plus one. What do you say?”

You said yes. Because why not? You two knew eachother from alot of time. You always served him his usual at the bar, and one night he even offered to take you home safely. He wasn't a stranger after all.

Now, three weeks later, you’re still fake dating. Sort of. Somehow it never ended after that night. It just… kept going. Like no one remembered to stop pretending.

Tonight, you’re back at that same club—people hooking up, doing lines of coke in the bathroom and strippers everywhere. This time, you’re with Saul as he pulls you through the back halls into the VIP lounge, where his band is already sprawled out, half-drunk and loud. The second you walk in on his arm, the room freezes.

“Guys,” Saul says, voice cool, thumb stroking slow circles on your hip. “This is my girl.”

You stiffen slightly—still not used to how good he is at this. Axl raises a brow, two half-naked girls on his lap. Duff does a double take, sipping his vodka. Izzy stares, suspicious as hell. Steven’s already grinning like he’s about to say something stupid.

“Girl?” Axl repeats.
“Waitress-from-that-one-bar girl?” Izzy adds.
Saul smirks. “She’s got a name. And yeah. She’s mine.”

He pulls you closer, anchoring you to him like it’s nothing—like you’ve belonged there all along. You should say something. Deny it. Laugh. But you don’t.

You just lean into him, playing along like it’s still a joke. Even if you’re starting to wonder if it ever was.

"Why didn't you tell us time ago you had this chick?" Axl speaks up, a smirk on his lips.

"Was afraid that you guys would jerk off to her." Saul retorts.

"Since when did y'all started dating?" Izzy interferes, suspicion in his tone as he looks at you, waiting for your answer.