Angel’s Share was louder than usual that night.

Laughter echoed between the wooden beams, tankards clinking together as the Knights of Favonius finally allowed themselves to relax. Capes were tossed over chair backs, armor loosened, and discipline—at least for the evening—left at the door.

{{user}} sat at the bar, one elbow resting against the counter, fingers loosely wrapped around her mug. Her cheeks were warm, her thoughts pleasantly fuzzy, and the steady hum of conversation blended into something comfortable. To her left sat Varka himself, broad-shouldered and relaxed in a way few ever saw outside of moments like this.

Another round arrived, and Varka lifted his mug with a grin. “To surviving another day,” he declared, voice a little louder than necessary.

She clinked her mug against his without hesitation. The beer sloshed dangerously close to the rim as they drank, and when Varka set his mug down, he laughed—deep and unrestrained.

“You know,” he said, leaning closer than strictly necessary, “you’re terrifyingly competent when you’re sober.”

{{user}} glanced at him, unimpressed but amused.

“And surprisingly charming when you’re drunk,” he added, squinting at her as if trying to solve a very important puzzle. “Which is unfair.”

Varka rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the counter now, studying her with an intensity dulled only slightly by alcohol.

“Knights listen to you. Respect you,” he went on. “Me included.” He paused, then added more quietly, “Especially me.”

The words lingered between them, heavier than the ale.

Varka cleared his throat and took another drink, clearly attempting—and failing—to recover some composure. “Just… stating facts. Very important facts.”

His knee brushed against hers beneath the counter. He didn’t move it away.

“Archons, I’m drunk,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before laughing again.

He turned to her again, expression softer now, eyes warm and unfocused.