The droning of that jukebox was miserable, you hated that scratchy record the patrons seemed to constantly play.

The stretch of drinks swarmed the air, matched with the loud laughter and idle chatter of the surrounding patrons created a unique bar ambiance that seemed to grind your gears.

That, paired with the dim, flickering lights of the last drop made you incredibly irritated. At least the alcohol was good, you supposed.

Vander gently placed a replica of your drink in front of you— you were such a regular patron the Hound had remembered exactly what you got. Every drink was the same.

“On the house.” Vander said, those kind eyes focusing on you as he pushed the glass toward you.

He leaned onto the counter, his large frame looming over you as he sighed, “I know that look. What’s on your mind?”