"Bartender, one Old Fashioned, please."
"Understood," the red-haired boy—bartender—replied, his voice low and steady, almost like a quiet lody weaving through the ambient murmur of the bar.
The place was a warm cocoon of polished wood and soft shadow, the walnut counter gleaming beneath the amber glow of hanging pendant lights.
Behind him, shelves stretched to the ceiling, densely packed with bottles. The llow hum of old jazz floated from a vintage speaker tucked into the corner, mingling with the occasional burst of laughter and the soft thrum of conversations, while the city’s neon flickered across the bottles and glasses in sars of crimson and blue.
His hands moved with a calm, practised grace—no rush, just certainty. A sugar cube is dropped into the bottom of a weighted glass. A few precise dashes of Angostura bitters followed, releasing that rich, herbal scent that curled into the air and mingled with the citrus of the orange peel already waiting on the cutting board.
He spoke as he worked, not bothering to lift his eyes. His tone was easy, storytelling without pretence, "The Old Fashioned’s got history. So say it first showed up at the Pendennis Club in Louisville. Others say folks were mixing spirits, sugar, water, and bitters long before anyone gave it a na. Back then, if you asked for a ’cocktail,’ this is what you got. No frills, no flash—just the basics done right."
He gently muddled the sugar and bitters, added a dash of water, and then poured in the bourbon—a slow, honey-colored ribbon that caught the light. The ice cubes he added clinked softly, clear as cut crystal.
With a smooth twist of his wrist, he coaxed the oil from an orange peel, letting it rest on the surface like a final signature.
"Bourbon gives it that llow, lingering warmth," he said softly. "So people go for rye—they want that edge, that bite. But I stick with the old way. Easy, honest, and ant to be sipped slowly."
He slid the glass forward across a black napkin, the drink perfectly centred.
"There you are. Let the night take its ti."
The custor accepted the glass with a small nod and, without another word, turned and rejoined the nearby celebration.
"Leo, you should actually be working instead of rambling on with these stories. The people who co in here aren’t interested in all that history stuff," his co-worker said, approaching with a furrowed brow.
Leo shook his head slightly, not the least bit bothered. "It’s alright. I’m passing on sothing real. Maybe they won’t rember , but they might rember what they were drinking."
His co-worker snorted with a grin. "Haha... yeah, I doubt that."
"This tastes like ass!"
Suddenly, a sharp, irritated voice echoed through the bar like a slap of cold water.
Leo’s co-worker groaned. "Oh great... Here cos another spoiled brat with champagne taste and boxed wine manners."
Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his focus shifting toward a woman who sat alone at her table, arms folded tightly across her chest and expression curled into a pouty scowl. Her expensive outfit scread luxury, and her glare was fixed on another server who stood there awkwardly, bowing again and again, completely overwheld.
"Leo, it’s your call," his co-worker muttered in resignation. "You’re the only one who can handle her kind."
Leo exhaled through his nose and set down his towel with the faintest flicker of a smirk. "Spoiled or not, everyone walks through that door for a reason," he murmured, straightening his vest and smoothing down his sleeves.
He moved toward her table with the grace of soone who understood stage presence, every step asured and unrushed. The woman radiated cold confidence, her designer purse perched beside her like a guard dog, her nails tapping the table in restless irritation.
He stopped just before reaching her, hands folded politely at his waist. "I understand the drink wasn’t to your liking, miss?"
The co-worker escaped in a second.
She scoffed loudly and flipped her hair over her shoulder with an elegant but dismissive flick. "If you can even call that a drink. Tasted like soone wrung it out of a used gym sock. I asked for sothing bold—sothing worth my ti and money. Is that too much to expect around here?"
Leo nodded without flinching, his voice calm and unshaken. "Not at all. Let us try again. I’d like to make you sothing special—on the house. One more chance."
She raised a sharply shaped brow, stiletto heel tapping against the tile as if weighing whether he was worth her ti. "Fine," she said coolly. "Impress . But don’t waste my ti."
He gave a small nod and turned toward the bar. Without hesitation, he chose a crystal coupe glass and began pulling ingredients, each movent deliberate, confident, almost reverent. Fresh raspberry purée. A whisper of elderflower liqueur. A bright splash of lemon juice. A asure of top-shelf vodka. Just the right hint of rosewater.
He shook the drink with swift precision, the ice rattling rhythmically. "You know," he called over his shoulder, "they say the right cocktail doesn’t just taste good—it shifts your whole mood. My ntor used to call this one the ’Midnight Sonata.’ Said it could make silence sing."
He poured the drink carefully, watching it settle into delicate layers of blushing pink. He garnished it with a sugared rim and a single edible rose petal placed right in the center—simple, elegant, and a touch dramatic.
He returned to her and set the glass gently in front of her. Their eyes t.
"Taste it. And if it still disappoints, I’ll hang up my apron for the night."
She stared at him, silent. Was it a challenge? A test? Either way, she lifted the glass slowly, eyes flicking to his, then back to the rim. She took a sip.
For a mont, her face gave away nothing. Then her lips parted, just slightly, in the smallest expression of surprise—as if she hated to admit it, even to herself.
Leo’s smile was quiet, confident, with just a trace of mischief. "Sotis," he said softly, "it’s not about the label, or the price tag, or how rare the bottle is. It’s about finding the right mix... for the right person. Even for soone who already has everything."
He nodded politely and turned to leave, but paused when he felt a hand wrap lightly around his wrist.
"Miss?"
The woman was looking at him differently now. She licked her lips slowly, and her voice ca out low, almost playful. "You said it’s about the right mix for the right person. Tell , how did you know this one was right for ?" she asked, her tone carrying genuine curiosity beneath the challenge, then took another long sip of the drink.
Leo offered a subtle smile, returning to his professional poise. "Forgive , Miss... but I really must get back to work—"
"I’ll pay for every drink," she said suddenly, her voice sharp with certainty, eyes now fixed on the bar’s owner. "As long as he is with ."
Her statent rang through the bar like a spark catching dry tinder.
The owner glanced at Leo, caught sowhere between protocol and curiosity. Officially, arrangents like that weren’t allowed. But every drink? And judging by her attitude, her wealth, her presence... she wasn’t just anyone.
The owner gave Leo a silent, knowing look, eyes telling him what his mouth couldn’t say.
And it wasn’t like this was anything new. Whenever Leo stepped onto the floor, most adult won would end up fluttering around him like moths drawn to fla. His quiet charm, that smooth voice, and the way he handled a drink—it was enough to make anyone curious, maybe even a little obsessed.
But this... this was different.
This was the first ti soone had offered to pay for every drink, just for him.
Leo didn’t need to hear it spoken aloud. He could already see where this was heading. With a quiet sigh, he gave a small nod and made his way to the woman’s table, slipping into the seat across from her with a calm expression.
"What’s your na, boy?" she asked, voice curious and slow, her eyes locked on him like he was so new rare treat she was sizing up.
"Na’s Leo, Miss," he answered politely.
She tilted her head and frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing in examination. "You look young... How old are you really?"
Leo hesitated for just a second, his posture stiffening. "I... I’m kind of struggling with money right now, Miss—"
The woman interrupted gently, waving off his excuse like it wasn’t worth hearing. "Relax. I’m not calling the cops or anything. I’m just curious. Indulge ."
Her eyes leaned into him like a predator watching its prey, sparkling with amusent and sothing deeper—sothing dangerous.
"Well... I’m actually eighteen," he admitted, his voice quieter this ti.
"Oh..." she blinked, her lips slowly curling into a smirk. "So you’re legal, then~"
Her foot slid forward beneath the table and brushed against his. A deliberate touch. A little too soft.
Leo didn’t even flinch. He’d dealt with his fair share of odd and overaffectionate custors before.
She waved her fingers—fingers heavy with rings and expensive sparkle—and eyed him thoughtfully. "Tell , how long have you been working here? With your level of skill..." she paused to sip from her glass, "...I’d guess years."
Leo nodded, posture still upright, voice steady. "Yes, Miss. I’ve known the bar owner for a long ti. When I needed money, he offered a place. I’ve been working here for about three years now."
"Mmm... impressive," she humd, her leg slowly gliding up further, teasing closer and closer to more sensitive territory.
Leo didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
She pouted slightly, feigning disappointnt. "You’re no fun. Am I not beautiful to you, boy?" Her lips curved sweetly into a cute little pout, but her eyes held sothing more primal.
Leo offered a gentle smile, ever the professional. "You’re a very beautiful person, Miss."
The woman leaned in, her voice dipping into sothing sultrier. "Then why don’t you co ho with ? I have a very... big car."
Her foot nudged sothing under the table—sothing dangerously close. Too close.
Leo gulped hard, barely able to hide it. "E-Excuse , Miss, this is... really inappropriate," he muttered as he gently tried to push her foot away with his own.
But she didn’t stop. She leaned in even closer, her breath brushing against him. Her lips curled into a slow grin. "Oh, sweetheart... You’re just making want you more. Do you have a girlfriend?" she purred, voice dipped in temptation.
Without missing a beat, Leo replied with calm sincerity. "No, Miss. But... I believe one day I’ll find the one I love. At least... I hope so."
Her grin only grew. "So... you haven’t done anything naughty yet?"
Leo opened his mouth for a second, but no words ca out. That pause was enough.
She burst into laughter.
"Haha... eighteen and still a virgin? Oh my god. What a funny little thing you are~"
Leo stared at her blankly, face unreadable. He stayed composed, his voice cool and collected. "I don’t think that’s sothing to laugh at. It’s my choice.
There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin."
Then, with the softest sigh and the most expressionless tone, he added, "I’m not... loose like others."
His words hung there for a second—calm, honest—and then, with no change in expression, he continued,
"I ant... with money."
The woman’s grin froze. Her smirk faded just slightly. She sipped the rest of her drink in silence, watching him closely. Then she leaned forward, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Sothing had shifted.
She whispered right next to his ear, her voice low and hot, "Then co find out whether if it loose... or fucking tight."
She stood up dramatically, her movent graceful and full of intention—but in that mont, her heel slipped. She stumbled forward, about to crash to the floor.
Leo moved instantly, his hands catching her before she could fall.
"Looks like you can’t even handle a single drink," he said with a small, amused smile, steadying her.
She groaned, clearly dazed, and lazily draped an empty arm around his neck as he helped her walk toward the door. Even in her tipsy state, she motioned for her guard to pay.
Despite everything, she kept her word.
"Honestly, I’m surprised you actually paid," Leo murmured.
"Haha... What, did you think I’d back out?" she slurred with a grin. "I’m a woman of my word, boy~"
She looked at him, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes hazy but fixated on his face.
Leo just shook his head and walked her out the door.
Outside, a long, sleek black car waited. It glead under the moonlight.
"It’s big, indeed," Leo said, sounding genuinely impressed as he guided her to it.
Her guard opened the car door, and Leo gently helped her inside. "Take care, Miss," he said politely, bowing his head with his usual calm grace. He turned to leave.
But a guard blocked his path.
"Excuse —?" Leo began.
"You forgot sothing,"
"Huh?" Leo blinked, then turned back toward the car.
The woman, now slouched in her seat, slowly raised one empty hand, her lips curling upward.
"You really thought I wouldn’t notice it, brat?" she muttered with a sly look in her eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Leo tilted his head, with innocent confusion.
She chuckled, her voice thick with lust and amusent. "Look at you... I’m really starting to like you~ Little Thief~"
Then, without warning, she slamd a punch into his gut. Leo groaned sharply, doubling over.
In that instant, the guard behind him moved. One tossed a heavy sack over his head. The other pulled him into the car.
Before anyone could even notice—before a scream or a question could be raised—they were gone.
The white night sky above began to shift.
The clouds parted around the pale moon... its glowing light slowly bleeding into crimson.
The sky was turning red.
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