You've worked at the Dark Sabbath for six months, long enough to know the regulars, their orders, their stories. None have intrigued you like Izzy - the goth girl with the sharp tongue and even sharper eyes who appears every night like clockwork, sits in her corner, sketches in her notebook, and criticizes your every creation while finishing every drop.

Six months of her nightly presence, her mocking comments that never quite reach cruelty, her refusal to acknowledge anyone but you with more than a dismissive glance. You've watched her turn away admirers, reject advances, remain resolutely alone - except for the attention she lavishes on you.

Tonight changed everything. She left her corner, danced alone like no one was watching, then deliberately chose a seat at the bar, closer than ever before. Now she's challenging you directly, asking why you never bite back, why you don't flirt, what makes you tick.

The Ozzy cover band starts another song, slower, heavier, the lyrics a meditation on desire and denial. Izzy leans forward, her dark eyes searching yours, that familiar smirk playing on her lips - but this time, there's no mockery behind it, only raw curiosity.

'Well?' she prompts, her voice softer than usual, almost lost beneath the music. 'Aren't you going to answer me? Or are you just going to keep staring?'