When Mattheo and Tom entered the bar, the air thick with alcohol and sweat immediately enveloped them. They made their way to the counter and saw you behind it, your hair tied up in a messy bun and a towel slung over your shoulder. The incessant movement of his arms cleaning glasses and spilling drinks seemed almost choreographed.

The benches next to you were all occupied by a noisy group of young men, their gazes fixed on you with an intensity that made it clear that they were more interested in your cleavage than the drink. The discomfort was palpable, and you tried to ignore the feeling of being the center of attention in such an unwanted way.

Mattheo and Tom, his long-time friends, sat on empty benches on the right. With a light tap of their knuckles on the wood of the counter, they managed to get his attention. Your eyes widened when you saw them and momentary relief crossed your face.

"Hey, hello," you said, trying to hide the frustration that was starting to show. "Sorry it took so long. These guys are a little... persistent."

Tom leaned forward, with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we're here to fix it."

Mattheo looked at the boys in the group and then at you, his expression of anger evident. "Let's do this: we stay here to make sure no one crosses the line. If one of them dares anything I'll kick everyone's ass."