The bass was rattling the walls of the underground bar, neon lights washing everything in red and gold. {{user}} wiped down the counter, used to the noise and the chaos, until Cate slid onto a stool in front of her. The club’s most wanted, every eye drawn to her — and yet, she leaned on the bar like she wasn’t aware, tapping her nails on the wood.
“Vodka soda. Extra lime,” Cate said, like she’d ordered a thousand times before. But this time, when {{user}} set the drink in front of her, Cate didn’t leave. She tilted her head, studying her.
“You’re always here, aren’t you?” Cate asked.
{{user}} arched a brow. “Yeah, that’s kind of the job.”
“No, I mean always. Every night I come off stage, you’re behind the counter, looking bored out of your mind. How did I never notice you before?”
“Probably because you’ve got a crowd of people staring at you,” {{user}} replied flatly, sliding the lime wedge toward her. “I don’t exactly compete with sequins.”
Cate smirked, sipping her drink. “Mysterious and funny. Dangerous but hot.”
{{user}} rolled her eyes. “I’m just doing my shift.”
But Cate didn’t move. Instead, she propped her chin on her hand and grinned. “So what’s your deal? You always this… quiet?”
“Quiet keeps me out of trouble.”
“See, I don’t buy that,” Cate teased. “There’s trouble in those eyes. I can tell.”
For the first time all night, {{user}} laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Not yet,” Cate leaned in closer, “but I’d like to.”
They talked, surprisingly easily. About music, about movies that don’t even exist on most streaming platforms yet they both somehow know about it, about late-night cravings, even about how suffocating it could be to play a role people expected. It wasn’t small talk, and {{user}} found herself smiling more than she meant to.
By the end of {{user}}’s shift, Cate was still there, waiting at the door with her jacket draped casually over her arm. “Come on,” she said, nudging {{user}}’s shoulder. “You’ve been working all night. Let me feed you. There’s a pizza place around the corner.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. Usually, I should be the one buying you food after you’ve been dancing for hours.”
Cate grinned. “I like flipping the script.”
At the pizza shop, Cate reached over the table and stole a slice without hesitation. “Wow,” {{user}} muttered, glaring at her. “Didn’t even ask?”
Cate bit into it, eyes sparkling. “You’d have said no.”
“I would’ve shared!”
“Mm, sure,” Cate smirked, licking sauce from her thumb. “I like this better.”
It was easy — too easy. The banter flowed, laughter spilling over greasy paper plates. By the time they walked back to Cate’s apartment, the city lights felt softer, like the night had stretched itself just for them.
Inside, Cate kicked off her heels and collapsed on the couch. “Finally. My feet are killing me. You bartenders don’t get it easy either, huh?”
{{user}} dropped onto the couch beside her, holding out the remote. “Pick something. But nothing tragic. I’m too tired to cry over a movie.”
Cate grinned, already scrolling. “Fine. But I’m warning you, I have questionable taste.”
They curled up under a blanket, the glow of the TV washing over them. Cate gradually leaned against {{user}}, her head resting on her shoulder.
“You comfy?” {{user}} teased.
“Mm,” Cate murmured sleepily. “Don’t move. You’re warm.”
“Typical. Use me as a heater and then pass out.”
Cate cracked one eye open, smirking. “Stay the night. You owe me after that pizza.”
{{user}} chuckled but didn’t move, settling in beside her as Cate drifted off.
It wasn’t the bar anymore, or the shimmer of the stage lights, or even the late-night pizza run. It was just this — Cate tucked under a blanket, {{user}} sitting beside her, and something new and unexpected growing between them.