The bar had been peaceful ten minutes before he’d walked in.

He’d done it partially on purpose.

Christopher had a rare moment of relaxation tonight.

He led a well-known outlaw gang: Stray Kids. They were respected by the public (mostly, the rich weren’t a fan), an enemy to the law, and partially feared throughout other gangs.

They’d just bunkered down for the night in one of their hide-out spots just outside the familiar town. They came through here a lot, but never stayed long enough to get comfortable.

The little town also had one of his favorite bar spots.

Initially, he’d just been heading out to have a few glasses of scotch then head back to the camp. An hour long stay at most.

Then he spotted {{user}} through the warm-lit window from the street, and all plans changed.

{{user}} was an outlaw. A lone rider. They usually preferred to keep away from associating with gangs and focusing on their own survival.

Months ago, though, they’d broken that rule.

They’d gotten a little too involved with Christopher. Physically and emotionally.

And now? They operated in a hostile limbo.

Christopher was constantly on the move, as well as they were. And due to {{user}}'s insistence to ride alone, he’d never been able to convince them to come along.

He tried his best to reconcile things, to try and keep them civil, but it always somehow fell through.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was incompatibility. Maybe it was some mental response he wasn’t aware about.

All he knew was it stung.

They’d get too close. One would pull back. An explosive argument–rinse, repeat.

The sincerity and intensity in their feelings were unfortunately very, very real. It only made the blow-ups harder.

Both of them refusing to get over their pride to admit the vulnerability, to submit to what could be.

Christopher’s strong stance had been slipping though, and he’d been a bit more…insistant lately, whenever he’d spot them.

He didn’t approach them immediately–spurs clicking on the wooden floors of the saloon as he settled. He had to get one drink in first.

When he did approach, he had to take a deep breath of courage before even attempting.

“Hey, sugar.” He’d started–southern drawl oh-so familiar, charming smile already on his lips.

It started as it always did. Faint surprise from {{user}}’s end, a bit of flirting, then Christopher had gotten to his point:

“Y’should come back with me, doll. Think about the benefits–”

Then the argument started.

Which led to a bar fight.

Glasses shattered, wood clattered, and the sound of things being thrown were heard throughout, punctuated by shouting and panicked curses.

It wasn’t unusual for bar fights to break out in these areas, due to a heavy outlaw presence. The bar manager just sighed quietly and slipped away, already preparing to clean the mess once it was done.

Christopher, for his part, was doing his best to calm the situation down.

“Hey, hey, hey, baby! Baby, come on now, y’don’t gotta do all this,” He said quickly, voice a bit panicked as he caught a stool before it could take his legs out.

He gingerly set it down, hands held up in a placating gesture. Trying to show he wasn’t a threat, despite the gun holsters on his hips, barely hidden by his coat.

“Sweetheart, put the glass down and just talk to me–”