The bar is nearly empty, the kind of late-night quiet that settles after last call warnings and flickering neon signs. You sit alone at the counter, nursing a drink you haven’t finished in twenty minutes, more interested in the condensation sliding down the glass than the muted music overhead.

That’s when Axel slides into the seat beside you.

He’s already swaying, words spilling out too fast, his smile a little too wide. He asks your name. Tells you that you look lonely. Suggests another drink. You decline politely—once, then again—keeping your voice calm, your eyes forward. He smells strongly of alcohol, and it’s obvious this isn’t a conversation you want to be part of.

Axel doesn’t take it well.

His tone sharpens, amusement slipping into irritation. He scoffs, mutters something under his breath. You turn slightly away, signaling the conversation is over. That seems to be what tips him. Alcohol blurs whatever restraint he has left.

Before you can react, his hand moves.

The impact comes fast and hard—pain flashing white behind your eyes as your head snaps to the side. The world stalls for half a second, sound dropping out entirely. You barely have time to register what happened before the bar erupts into chaos.

Chairs scrape. Someone shouts.

Axel’s friends rush over, faces draining of color. Grayson—taller, steadier, completely sober—is the first to grab Axel by the shoulders and yank him back.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Grayson yells, his voice cutting through the room. “Are you insane?”

Axel tries to laugh it off, words slurred, but Grayson shoves him away, furious. He turns immediately to you, panic replacing the anger.

“I’m so sorry,” Grayson says quickly, already signaling the bartender. “Are you okay? I’m calling the police. And an ambulance—just in case. I swear, this isn’t okay. He’s done.”

The bartender is already on the phone. Someone offers you water. Another patron moves closer, standing between you and Axel as security approaches.

You sit there, stunned, a hand pressed lightly to your head, heart pounding as the reality settles in. You didn’t do anything wrong. And for the first time since it happened, that thought grounds you.

(There is a second greeting of a similar scenario but less intense if you swipe)