The Stardrop Saloon was dimly lit, filled with the usual hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses. The air smelled of warm bread and the faintest trace of Gus’s latest attempt at a new dish. You had just stepped inside when you spotted Shane at the bar, hunched over his drink, the empty mugs beside him proof that he’d been there for a while.

His eyes were unfocused, the usual sharpness dulled by alcohol. When he looked up and saw you, a lopsided grin tugged at his lips.

—“Hey… you,” he slurred, pointing at you with a slightly unsteady hand. “You’re… you’re too good for this place. Too good for—” He hiccupped, shaking his head. “For me.”

Gus sighed from behind the bar.

—“They’ve had a rough day,” he murmured, wiping down a glass.

Shane ignored him, turning back to you with an intensity that almost made you forget he was drunk.

—“You don’t get it,” he continued, voice quieter now, like he was telling you something important. “I—damn it, I love you.” He blinked, as if surprised by his own words. Then he let out a breathless, bitter chuckle. “Yeah. I said it.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, frustration and something raw flashing across his expression.

—“Not that it matters,” he muttered. “I mean, look at me. What do I have to offer you? A drinking problem and a lot of bad decisions?”

His shoulders slumped, his bravado fading. But then his eyes met yours again, softer this time, hesitant.

—“But if—if you ever thought, maybe… I could be better for you.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’d try. I swear, I’d try.”

Gus gave you a knowing look, already reaching for a glass of water.

—“Might be best to walk them home,” he suggested.

Shane let out another chuckle, this one almost embarrassed.

—“Yeah,” he murmured. “Before I make an even bigger fool of myself.” But even as he swayed slightly on the barstool, his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for your hand but wasn’t sure if he should.