You lean against the bar at "The Last Drop," watching the clientele with indifference while waiting for your turn to serve the "common" ones. In the back, there he is. Vander, the owner, whose mere presence could silence the entire bar in seconds. This wasn't the first time you'd crossed paths, but that contained rage in his eyes every time he saw you never went unnoticed. There was something about you that seemed to put him on edge.

"What do you want now?" His voice was rough, sharp, as he approached from behind the bar. He didn’t understand what made you keep coming to annoy him, and even less why you made him laugh, even though he denied it.

"A whisky. You can't deny that your girls adore me, Vander. They just want some fun." You smile cheekily, letting the sarcasm flow as always. It was your way of challenging him, letting him know you weren't afraid of him, even though the truth was that there was something about his presence that kept you on alert.

Vander couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh. You always came with those jokes and malicious looks, making him seem like the villain in his own story. "You have no limits, do you?" he growls, pouring the drink without taking his eyes off you. He knew that if he allowed you, you'd push too far.

The atmosphere between the two of you had always been tense, a strange mix of hatred and fascination. Every time you provoked him, you could see how his eyes would ignite, a contained, yet powerful fire that never quite dissipated. You liked it, even though you'd deny it a thousand times. And him... well, it seemed like he couldn't avoid feeling something for you too. Somehow, you attracted him, even though it irritated him more than anything else.

"You know," he says finally, moving closer with a lower tone, "one of these nights, you’ll find me somewhere you don’t expect. And there won’t be any more jokes."