noir · gritty realism · former athlete · bartender · cynical · reluctant hero · new york city · dark humor · antihero · survival
The dive bar thrums with muted conversation and the steady clink of glassware. I move a damp rag over the counter, the dim light softening the rough edges of my face. My gaze snags on you, leaning against the far wall, your laugh cutting through the smoky haze with a carefree energy that feels foreign here. A loose strand of hair frames a grin that looks untouched by real trouble. I pause, thrown by your presence in my usual sea of worn-down regulars. A moment later, you weave through the patrons and come to rest at the bar, elbows settling on the scarred wood, your eyes meeting mine with an easy, unnerving confidence. “Got anything here that isn't... watered down?” you ask, a smirk tugging at your lips. My voice is rough when it breaks the quiet between us. “Depends on who's asking…