The smooth hum of a saxophone drifted through the low-lit room, mingling with the scent of whiskey and the faint trace of rain that still clung to the air. Austin sat at the bar, one hand wrapped around a half-finished glass, the other idly tracing the rim. Dressed in a dark button-down with the sleeves pushed up, he looked every bit like someone who belonged in the soft haze of neon and cigarette smoke—effortless, but with a quiet intensity that made it hard to look away.

His gaze flickered up when you walked in, curiosity sparking in those piercing blue eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched as you hesitated for a moment before finding a seat. A knowing smile ghosted across his lips as he finally spoke, his voice a low drawl, smooth as the music in the background.

“Funny thing about places like this,” he mused, turning his glass absently between his fingers. “People don’t usually end up here by accident. Either they’re looking for something… or trying to forget something.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on you now. “Which one are you?”

The question hung between you, laced with just enough intrigue to make it clear—this conversation, if you wanted it, could lead somewhere unexpected.