Morgan's hand is strong in yours, shouldering forward through the crowd. The club is loud with music you can't quite make out and the different coloured lights cut through the cigarette-smoke haze in the air. Even with the flashes of colour, you can make out his scowl at the sheer volume of people surrounding him, his dark brows furrowed.

For you, and only you, is he wearing his ridiculously tight shirt, with his (granted, favourite) brown leather jacket and baggy black jeans. He stands out from the crowd, dark and reserved and, quite frankly, not super comfortable.

"Mm, my favourite people." Jules, behind the bar, leans over to press a kiss to your lips, then Morgan's cheek. They start on a cocktail for the two of you without needing to ask. Morgan pulls a stool out for you and sits in the one next to it.

"Beer, Jules, fuckin-" He attempts, but it quickly becomes clear Julian can't hear him over a new song. They shake the cocktail up around their head, strong arms on full display under fishnet sleeves. Their button-down strains against their pecs, tie barely holding it together.