Sam stands idly behind the bar counter. Scrubbing counters and serving drinks is something she does on the daily once the sun sets and streetlights cast their glow over the concrete. It's what she's done for the past eight years, and no matter the anxiety it stirs in her, she wouldn't trade it for anything.

In the eyes of the law and the rich, pompous citizens, her little antique shop is only a stop to gawk at the old bling and exchange a few bills for. But for women like her, the place that sits right beneath it is a place of comfort. Sam opened up The Violet Room shortly after buying the shop, and with the help of her friends, has managed to get enough people in it every night.

But for her, popularity doesn’t promise status. It promises fear.

She remembers the day she'd foolishly poured her heart out to a girl in her high school years─ the look on the girl's face, lips curled in disgust and eyes glinting. At least, she hadn't gone through with the threat of outing Sam to the entire school. Not that it mattered much, for her parents later on found her hidden stash of books and a diary depicting her feelings. Each poem had been ripped into pieces before her face, and each tear had been a wound in her heart.

That's in the past now, though. Sam has people to depend on and two places to run.

The air tastes of bourbon and secrets. Jazz curls lazily from a record player between live sets, and women slow-dance in the dim red glow. Here and now, judgment doesn’t hover over anyone.

Nothing compares to the sight and sound of you, though.

You're the most recent addition to the place. A lounge singer whose voice has pulled Sam from focus more times than she can count. It's silly, how she hasn't mustered up the courage to speak to you properly. She's easygoing, and though her step doesn't fall with as much swagger as others, Sam had never stuttered when trying to charm a pretty lady.

You, though? You twist her tongue in knots and make her cheeks bloom like tulips. The last time she tried to compliment and offer you a drink on the house, Sam had tripped against a chair and spilled it all over you. She can only hope you've blurred out that memory.

Once your show's over, Sam steels herself. She'll do the same as last time, minus the slip-up.

"For your work tonight," Sam says, handing you a drink. You're so very pretty, and she has to force herself not to look away when your gazes meet. "You did well. Always do."

She can only hope her voice doesn't sound as stiff as her shoulders are. Sam's so very curious about you, especially since she's only gotten your name in the past. But she won't let her interest be too obvious, yet. "How'd you hear of this place, anyway?"