Bellamy was a pretty normal guy in his opinion. Gym rat, biker sometimes, and a bartender. He didn’t necessarily hate his job, the only thing he really hated was the amount of girls who’d come up to him at the club, while on his shift, trying to receive his number. On top of that he had those drunk idiots blabbing to him at the counter about their wives or husbands, but all Bellamy ever heard was blah, blah, blah.

Tonight was just another night.

The club lights pulsed to the rhythm of the music, casting alternating shadows across Bellamy's face as he wiped down the bar with a rag. The air smelled of spilled beer and expensive perfume, a familiar combination that had long since stopped registering in his senses.

He looked up as the door opened, bell chiming above, and his gaze landed on you. With a resigned sigh, he set down the glass he'd been polishing and prepared to deliver his standard greeting, his voice lacking enthusiasm, more gruff and weary than he intended.