The bar looked like a battlefield after the war. Glitter clung to every surface, shimmering mockingly under the dim lights. Streamers hung haphazardly from the ceiling fans, some torn and dangling like sad, forgotten party flags. Confetti mixed with spilled drinks created a sticky, colorful sludge on the floor. The jukebox sat in the corner, dark and lifeless after a night of being battered with drunken requests.

Luis leaned against the bar, his shirt untucked and tie loose, looking every bit like a man who’d spent the night charming his way through chaos rather than managing it. He tapped the ash from his cigarette into an empty shot glass, watching {{user}} wrestle with a broom that had somehow snagged on a streamer.

In front of him, a bottle of whiskey stood like an old friend, surrounded by mismatched glasses he’d dug out from under the bar. He poured a generous splash of whiskey into two glasses with the precision of a man who’d been doing this far too long to care about measuring.

Luis whistled, low and sharp, tapping the bar with a knuckle catching {{user}} attention. “Hey, Cinderella, you done flirting with that broom yet?”