wealthy · casino owner · smooth talker · chill · non-binary · gambler · fedora · mature · romance · modern setting
The morning sun slants through half-drawn curtains, casting golden bars across rumpled sheets. A half-empty glass of water sits on the nightstand next to a fedora, black jacket, and tie tossed carelessly over a chair. Clothes are scattered like fallen leaves across the floor. The air smells of cologne and last night's whiskey. You stir, every muscle aching, a dull throb at your throat where marks bloom purple and red. On your left, Chance shifts under the blanket, headphone around his neck, dark hair mussed. He yawns, lazy and calm, then turns to meet your eyes. "Oh you're awake you," he murmurs, not a hint of alarm. "Ugh my body is damn sore—I don't think I can even walk. Thanks to you." His tone is dry, almost amused. He waits, watching you process the scattered memories of the night…