Zayn sighed as he leaned against the bar counter, his patience wearing thinner by the second.
He had spent the past hour watching Bran single-handedly fund half the brothel staff’s early retirent plan, and it was starting to physically hurt him.
How could soone be this financially reckless? Did Bran secretly have a gold mine stashed away sowhere? Or was he just that determined to live like a king for a single night before returning to a life of regretting all his choices?
Either way, Zayn decided he needed a drink before his head exploded.
He turned to the bartender, a woman whose chest threatened to escape the confines of her already very minimal outfit.
He tried very hard to keep his eyes on her face, and not on — well, everywhere else.
Her smile was warm, though there was an unmistakable mischief in her eyes as she slid a drink toward him.
"On the house, handso," she said with a wink.
Zayn raised an eyebrow but accepted it nonetheless. "That generous, huh? You don’t even know if I’m a good tipper."
She chuckled. "I have a feeling you’re not as loose with money as your friend over there."
They both turned to look at Bran, who had sohow climbed onto a table and was throwing coins into the air like a deranged festival perforr.
A group of won were reaching up to catch them, and a few unlucky ones got smacked in the forehead by falling silver. One woman snatched a coin midair, tucked it into her cleavage, and gave Bran a playful salute.
Zayn groaned and turned back to his drink. "You’d be correct."
The bartender leaned forward slightly, propping her elbows on the counter, which — for the love of all things holy — did not help Zayn keep his focus. "You co here often?"
Zayn took a sip before shaking his head. "Not really. This is my first ti here. My friend, however, is a frequent contributor to your establishnt’s financial well-being."
She snickered. "We do appreciate his... donations."
Zayn rolled his eyes and smirked. "Yeah, I’m sure he’s keeping a lot of you very well-fed."
The bartender let out a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I take it you’re the responsible one?"
"I like to think so," Zayn said, glancing over his shoulder. "But with a guy like Bran around, even I have my limits."
Bran had now collapsed onto a chair, exhausted but very proud of himself.
The once-lively party was finally winding down. The dancers were catching their breath, and the other patrons looked thoroughly drained — probably both physically and financially.
A few waitresses were gathering up the scattered coins, exchanging knowing glances that scread "we’re about to get paid extra tonight."
Zayn exhaled sharply. "And there he goes. Finally ran out of energy."
The bartender smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe the counter. "He lasted longer than most."
Zayn chuckled. "Yeah, well, he’ll be broke by morning, so it balances out."
Finishing his drink, he gave the bartender a nod of gratitude. "Appreciate the freebie. And the conversation."
She winked. "Co back anyti, handso."
Zayn shook his head with a small smile before turning to deal with the inevitable ss that was Bran.
...
Bran was sprawled across a chair like a lifeless corpse, his arms dangling over the sides, his mouth slightly open, and his face carrying the stupidly content look of a man who had absolutely no idea how much money he had just wasted.
Zayn sighed and crouched next to him, giving his shoulder a small shake. "Alright, ti to go."
Bran groaned but didn’t move.
Zayn shook him harder. "I swear if you make carry you, I’m dropping you in a ditch on the way ho."
Bran cracked one eye open, slurred sothing incoherent, then imdiately passed out again.
Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose.
’Of course.’
Muttering curses under his breath, he grabbed Bran under the arms and hoisted him up with much more effort than he liked. "How the hell are you this heavy? You drink your weight in beer or sothing?"
Bran groaned, shifting slightly in Zayn’s grip.
"Moderation..." he mumbled.
Zayn stared at him in disbelief. "Moderation? MODERATION?!"
He nearly dropped him right then and there. "Are you serious right now? Do you even know what that word ans?!"
Bran just snored in response.
Zayn dragged him toward the exit, grumbling the entire way. The few remaining bar-goers watched in amusent, and one of the waitresses gave Zayn a sympathetic look.
"Good luck," she called out as he stumbled toward the door.
"Oh, don’t worry," Zayn shot back, adjusting Bran’s weight on his shoulder. "If he wakes up broke, I win."
The door swung open, and the cool night air hit Zayn’s face, offering so relief from the overwhelming heat and chaos inside the brothel.
He took a deep breath, savoring the quiet, before sighing at the deadweight he was currently carrying.
"You owe so much for this," Zayn muttered.
Bran let out another half-conscious mumble. "Best... night... ever..."
Zayn groaned. "I hate you."
And with that, he carried his idiot friend into the night, already dreading the mont Bran would wake up and pretend like nothing had happened.
...
Perched atop the brothel’s slanted rooftop, a sleek black cat flicked its tail, its golden eyes glinting in the dim streetlight.
The creature was unnervingly still, save for the occasional flick of an ear as it observed the figures below.
Its gaze locked onto the two stumbling n — one half-conscious and being unceremoniously dragged along by the other.
"So these are the mbers of the hero of knowledge’s party, huh?" the cat whispered to itself, pausing to lick its paw with deliberate slowness.
Zayn, visibly irritated and exhausted, struggled to keep Bran upright.
Every few steps, Bran’s legs wobbled, forcing Zayn to adjust his grip. "I swear," he muttered under his breath, "if you puke on , I will personally leave you in the gutter."
Bran, in response, made a sound that was sowhere between a groan and a snore.
The cat’s ears perked up slightly, intrigued by the scene.
"And this one’s supposed to be the strongest one behind the Hero?" It chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the distant hum of the red-light district. "Interesting..."
It stretched its back, arching gracefully before settling down again, still watching.
However, just as it was about to resu its quiet musings, Zayn’s eyes suddenly snapped to the rooftop.
The cat froze.
For a split second, it felt an intense pressure — a sharp, calculating gaze that sent a strange chill down its spine.
’He saw ?!’
With a flick of its tail, the cat slipped backward into the shadows, rging into the night before Zayn’s eyes could lock onto it.
Down below, Zayn furrowed his brows, his exhaustion montarily replaced by a strange sense of unease.
His eyes scanned the rooftops, searching for... sothing. But there was nothing — just the empty night sky and the whisper of the wind.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Maybe I’m just seeing things..."
Bran let out a loud snore.
Zayn rolled his eyes. "Definitely seeing things."
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