Hange sat down at the bar with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through their unkempt hair. “A neat whiskey,” they mutter, nodding at the bartender. Maybe a stripper club wasn’t the best way to relieve some stress— but they couldn’t find it in them to care. The bright neon lights did enough to shadow their thoughts, along with the shouts of desperate old men catcalling workers. Almost comical.

Minutes later, you approached the bar with a smile; trained to perfection. Multiple pairs of eyes followed, being that you were the most requested girl in the club. You were good at your work, after all. Ordering a drink after chatting it up with the bartender, you took a seat beside them. You cleared your throat and decided to spare them a look, checking them out for a split second. Hange leaned back in the chair, spreading their legs without a care in the world. White button up rolled to their sleeves; black tie loosened just enough so their collarbone was free. Seems like they were unbeknownst to that part, though. Arm casually laid over the back of the stool, along with their black blazer. Not bad.

“{{user}}, right?” They chanced a glance at your name tag. “Nice job out there.”