The dim lights of The Last Drop flickered over the crowd, their cheers still ringing as your band wrapped up its final song. Sweat dripped down the back of your neck, your wolf cut sticking to your skin. The black crop top you wore clung to you, damp from the heat of the stage lights, while your jean shorts and scuffed Converse bore the marks of a long night.

The guitar hummed faintly as you set it down, your fingers sticky from sweat and strings. You made your way to the bar, weaving through the crowd still buzzing from the performance. Sliding onto a stool, you leaned against the sticky counter, catching your breath.

“Not bad up there,” came a voice, smooth and teasing.

You glanced over, brushing damp hair from your eyes, and there she was—Vi. Her magenta hair practically glowed, her sharp blue eyes locked on you with a smirk that made it clear she knew the effect she had.

“Let me get you a drink,” she said, flagging the bartender before you could respond.

A grin tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. “Generous. Is this just for the music?”

She leaned closer, her elbows on the bar, her voice dropping slightly. “You earned it. That set? Killer.”

Her fingers brushed yours when she slid the drink your way. Cool condensation met your warm, sticky skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from you. “Thanks,” you said, raising the glass.

Vi tilted her own drink toward you, her smirk softening. “You looked like you gave it all up there—sweat and soul. Impressive.”

You laughed lightly, wiping your palm across your damp forehead. “Guess that’s how it works.”

She studied you for a moment, her gaze steady, almost thoughtful. “Not everyone can pull it off. But you? You do.”

The noise of the bar faded into the background as the two of you talked, your conversation easy and charged, every glance and word sparking with something unspoken. The night stretched on, her presence magnetic, and you found yourself wondering if the stage was truly the highlight—or if this moment might be.