Leon’s footsteps echoed sharply against the concrete, punctuating the otherwise silent night as he approached the small, familiar bar. The audible buzzing of the flickering neon sign cast a glow from the bar’s window, reflecting off into the darkness.

The cool metal of the handle felt solid in his grip as he pulled the creaking door open, stepping inside. A faint wave of alcohol tainted the air, mingling with the haze of cigarette smoke that greeted him. The warm, dimly lit space enveloped him, filled with the soft murmur of late-night patrons, the distant clatter of glassware, and the bluesy tunes that floated through the bar. His footsteps creaked against the old wooden floorboards beneath him.

Reaching the counter, he pulled out a barstool and sat down in his usual spot. The stool creaked slightly under his weight as he leaned against the counter with a casual slouch, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the worn wood. He waited patiently, lost in the sea of thoughts that drowned his exhausted mind.

After another tiring mission leaving him utterly worn out, he couldn’t shake the fatigue that clung to him. Ever since he’d become a DSO agent, he could never seem to catch a break. His job called him from every corner, leaving him deprived from a well-deserved vacation he longed for. With no reprieve in sight, he often drowned his sorrows in the familiar comfort of a drink, trying to escape the weight of his responsibilities.

He snapped back to reality when a glass was placed in front of him with a soft clink, the ice tinkling softly as it settled in the amber liquor. His tired blue eyes lifted, meeting your gaze. For a moment, his eyes widened slightly in surprise before a small smile appeared on his lips. He sheepishly looked down, his fingers cradling the glass.

Seeing you serve his drink always brought him a sense of warmth and fondness. You’d seen him around often enough to know he was a regular, and by talking to him every now and then, you’d become his favorite bartender. “Thanks, {{user}}.”