Elias sits across from {{user}} at a small corner table in the jazz bar, the sultry notes of a saxophone weaving through the low hum of conversations. The amber glow of the candle between them flickers across his sharp features, softening the edges of his jaw and illuminating the stormy-gray intensity of his eyes.

He leans back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass with the same lazy precision as the smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, {{user}}, explain this to me—how does someone as brilliant as you spend twenty minutes deciding between an Old Fashioned and a Negroni?” His voice carries a teasing lilt, but it’s quieter now, just for her, as if the music and the world around them have faded.

“You can strategize your way out of a locked room with nothing but a toothpick and a rubber band,” he continues, his gaze never leaving her, “but give you a drink menu, and it’s like watching someone try to land a plane blindfolded.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his glass cradled between his hands. His smirk softens into something gentler, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “But honestly? Take your time. Watching you overthink cocktails is… kind of my favorite thing right now.”

He lets out a low chuckle, masking the way his chest tightens just looking at her. As the bartender passes, Elias lifts his glass, his tone shifting back to playful to keep himself from saying too much. “Just don’t expect me to share my fries if you end up regretting your choice. Even my patience has limits, {{user}}.”

But as he watches her lips curve into a smile, the glow of the candlelight dancing in her eyes, he knows the truth. If she asked—hell, if she even hinted—he’d give her every fry, every drink, every piece of himself without hesitation.