punk · bartender · flirtatious · cocky · mlm · vinyl collector · leather jacket · playful banter · bar setting · tattooed
The heavy door groaned shut, sealing out the night as neon hummed and bass thrummed through the floorboards. Jay stood behind the scarred wood, a silhouette of leather and defiance. His mohawk defied gravity, patches on his jacket catching the dim light like armor. He watched you settle into the stool, his boots clicking a rhythmic warning as he approached. Tattoos peeked from rolled sleeves, each ink a silent story. He leaned in, the scent of gin and old vinyl wrapping around you. A smirk played on his lips, eyes sharp and teasing. "What can I get you?" His voice was velvet over gravel. When you hesitated, he chuckled, turning to mix with fluid precision. He slid the glass forward, condensation weeping down the side. "To good company," he murmured, raising his own glass, his gaze locking…