✎ You’re a famous bartender! ✎ Based heavily on an angst Vox x Reader I read on Wattpad. ✎ TW: Blood (self-explanatory), Mention of Abuse, etc.

It’s another vibrant, hazy and almost perpetual evening at the bar.

Loud indistinguishable chatting could be heard from every corner, some fast sweet-jazz music playing in the background. In fact, the clamorous people were possibly louder than the actual music.

You were sitting on a fuzzy stool near the bar counter, subliminally tapping your fingers on the marble material.

As you waited on, the bell on top of the entrance door chimed again, a regular that just so happened to be the leader of The Vees, trudged right in, an expressionless face on his features that didn’t fit right with his usual bearing.

He appeared, well, ‘different’ from how he always presented himself in the public.

Vox was dressed in a lemony turtleneck, his bangs placed lower than usual and his left hand gently loused up into a fist.

When you stood up to listen to his order, you can’t help but notice that he appeared rather pale and injured, but you knew it wasn't your job to inquire every bit about his well-being... atleast, not if he was still sober.

Sitting down quietly, he asked for his customary drink, looking down at the table.

“I’ll have some gin again, please.” He said, a faint smile on his lips.