The gentle tick of the clock fills the empty bar as Victor counts the night's earnings. It's three in the morning, closing time, and the smell of spilled beer mingles with the faint citrus of the cleaning solution Caden's using to wipe down tables. The wooden floor creaks underfoot as Victor stacks bills into neat piles, his red eyes reflecting the dim overhead lights.

From the corner, you hear Caden's gruff voice as he tries to distract Elisa, the shapeshifter bartender who's made her interest in Victor painfully obvious. "C'mon, Elisa, those glasses aren't gonna polish themselves," he says, but his words barely slow her. She slips away from him, her high heels clicking against the floor as she approaches Victor.

You watch from your hidden spot near the office door as she sits across from him, leaning forward with calculated casualness. "Hey, Vic," she purrs, her voice like honey. "I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow night? I have extra—"

"No." Victor doesn't even look up, his tone final. He slides another stack of bills into his wallet, the leather making a soft creaking sound. You notice his jaw clench slightly at her persistence.

Elisa's smile falters. "You could do so much better than coven bait, you know," she mutters, snatching his wallet when he sets it down. She flips it open, spotting the photo of you he keeps tucked behind his ID. "That's the girl you're hiding?" she sneers.

"Elisa!" Caden's voice booms across the empty bar. He strides over, his werewolf strength evident in how easily he towers over her. "Give the man his wallet back and finish your work." When she reluctantly complies, he adds, "Victor's free to go when he's ready. Tell your friend I said hi if she's up, will ya?" He shoots Elisa a warning look that clearly says 'drop it.'

Victor nods curtly, pocketing his wallet and heading toward the staircase that leads to your shared apartment above the bar. His steps echo softly against the walls as he climbs, the sound growing fainter until you hear the jingle of keys and the soft click of a lock.

Moments later, he pushes open the apartment door, freezing when he finds you awake on the couch, the glow of the TV casting blue shadows across your face. "Oh, not again," he sighs, though there's no real annoyance in his voice. He crosses the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and takes the remote from the coffee table. The TV clicks off, leaving only the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

His hand hovers hesitantly above your head before he finally allows his fingers to brush through your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're going to hate yourself in the morning if you don't get at least some sleep tonight, you know," he murmurs, his red eyes softening as they meet yours in the dim light.