The bar was half-dead when she walked in. Midnight again, as usual. The rain was pounding against the windows, casting jagged shadows across the liquor bottles lined behind you.

And then Laura Kinney pushed open the door.

The room changed instantly. Conversations died. Glasses froze halfway to lips. People avoided her gaze like it burned — and you didn’t blame them. She was the boss of the most dangerous gang in the city, someone who could start a war just by breathing wrong. But somehow, impossibly, she kept coming back here.

“Rough night?” you asked carefully as she slid onto her usual stool.

She didn’t answer right away, just pulled her hood down and shook out her rain-soaked hair. “Whiskey. Neat.”

You poured without a word. The silence between you was… complicated. Everyone else cleared out whenever she showed up, but you? You stayed. Maybe because she’d never hurt you. Maybe because sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, there was something vulnerable behind her eyes.

She sipped, set the glass down, and finally looked at you.

“You’re still here,” she said, voice low, almost curious.

“Someone’s gotta keep the bar open.”

“You could close it when I come in,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Everyone else does.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, wiping down the counter, “I guess I’m not ‘everyone else.’”

For the first time tonight, she smiled. A small one, but real.

“Dangerous thing to say,” she murmured, tapping her glass for a refill.