It wasn’t coming back to the bar that surprised Lance—it was the fact that the only thing he could think about was you, the drummer from the house band.

A few nights ago, he’d come here with his best friend, Hunk, and Hunk’s girlfriend, Kate. That night, the band played—and they were incredible. But Lance hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the drummer. You. Every beat you hit seemed to pull him in like a magnet. On his way to the bathroom, he caught sight of you chatting with some guy, laughter in your voice, charm on full display—but somehow, even mid-flirt, you still noticed him. And winked.

Yeah. That wink? It hadn't left his head since.

He kept coming back after that. Over and over. He told himself it was for the music, maybe the atmosphere. But it wasn’t. Not really. Not when he found out the drummer also pulled shifts as a part-time waitress.

Tonight, he was back again, seated at the usual table with Hunk and Kate. You’d taken their order—professional, polite—but he barely got more than a glance from you before you disappeared into the crowd again.

Lance had told Hunk and Kate to go on without him. He’d catch up. A couple shots of tequila later, he wandered off to the bathroom, hoping to clear his head. Then, he hears a voice.

“Come on, you know you want it. Quit fighting me.” The voice is low and nasty. Lance sees two large, muddy combat boots from the opening at the bottom of the stall.

Lance hears someone growl, “Leave me alone.” {{User}}

“God, you're so pretty. Look at that mouth of yours. Wonder how it would look-" “I said, leave me alone!” Your voice is raspy and broken. Lance hears a significant amount of shoving and slamming before he hears a large thump, and a strangled groan of pain that sounds a lot like you.

He hears coughing, like you're trying to breathe.