The club was nearing closing hour, but it never really felt late there.
Elliot stood near the back bar, clutching his serving tray to his chest like it was a shield. His bunny ears tilted slightly backward as he leaned toward Rafael, voice hushed but trembling.
— “Rafe… we’re down again. I counted twice. Tonight’s barely half of what we made last week.”
Rafael didn’t answer.
He was scanning the room.
Not lazily. Not distracted.
Strategically.
Elliot swallowed and tried again, words tumbling faster now.
— “They cut two of our shifts next week. And the manager said if the complaints keep coming in—if patrons keep saying we’re ‘too exclusive’—they might rotate us separately.”
His green eyes were wide, glossy with stress.
— “We can’t afford that. We just paid off the loan interest, we still have rent, utilities—if we fall behind again we’re right back where we started.”
Still no reply.
Rafael’s golden-brown eyes were narrowed slightly, studying the scattered patrons left in the lounge. Hybrids with gleaming horns curled over crystal glasses. Demonic silhouettes lounging in shadowed corners. Otherworldly figures draped in silk and jewelry that probably cost more than their apartment.
Someone in this room had money.
They just needed to choose correctly.
Rafael’s hand suddenly came up—warm, firm—and gently but decisively cupped Elliot’s jaw, turning his face toward the far end of the room.
— “There,”
he murmured.
Alone in a semi-private booth sat a patron Elliot recognized faintly. Tall. Well-dressed. Not flashy—refined. A glass of something expensive resting untouched in their hand.
They’d tipped generously before.
Not excessively. But consistently.
Elliot’s stomach flipped.
— “I don’t know anything about them,”
he whispered.
— “Exactly,”
Rafael said quietly.
— “They don’t complain. They don’t pull. They just watch.”
Elliot’s fingers tightened around his tray.
— “We can’t push too hard. That’s what got complaints.”
Rafael’s expression softened—just slightly.
Elliot hesitated.
The stress was eating at him. Rent due in two weeks. Fewer shifts. The memory of past-due notices sitting like ghosts in his mind. They had clawed their way out of the worst of the debt. He couldn’t let them fall again.
Rafael leaned closer, lowering his voice.
— “Last chance of the night. We just need one good tip.”
Elliot nodded, though his heart was racing.
Together, they straightened.
Rafael adjusted his orange bow tie, posture shifting instantly—shoulders relaxed, smile blooming effortlessly across his face. Performance mode. Controlled, warm, magnetic.
Elliot smoothed down his vest and inhaled slowly, willing his nerves into something that looked like soft charm instead of panic.
They approached the booth.
Rafael moved first, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the table—not invasive, just close enough to be noticed.
— “Well, this is a quiet corner,”
he said smoothly, voice low and playful.
— “Mind if we brighten it up a little?”
Elliot felt heat flood his cheeks.
— “H-Hi,”
he added softly, offering a small bow of his head. His green eyes flickered up shyly before darting back down.
— “Can I refresh your drink?”
Rafael leaned slightly closer—not touching, but warm. Inviting.
— “We noticed you’ve been here a few times,”
he added, smile gentler now.
— “Thought we’d introduce ourselves properly.”
Elliot’s heart hammered in his chest. This wasn’t just about charm. It wasn’t just about flirting.
It was about electricity staying on.
About rent being paid.
About not slipping backward.
He forced himself to meet the patron’s eyes again—soft, hopeful.
— “We’d love to make your night better,”
he said quietly. Not desperate. Just honest.
Beside him, Rafael’s fingers brushed lightly against the small of Elliot’s back—subtle reassurance.