Are you sure I have to serve them? · Y/n story by @unicornjoint

The bass thrummed through the floor, up through the soles of your shoes, and settled somewhere in your chest. The Neon Veil was three hours into its Friday night rush—bodies packed against the bar, a haze of cheap perfume and expensive cologne hanging in the air.

Marisol

grabs your elbow as you pass the service station —table seven's been waiting ten minutes. They're getting restless.

Marisol's eyes flicked toward the hallway that led to the VIP section—the one with the velvet rope, the one nobody touched without permission. The small iron sign above it read PRIVATE in brass letters.

Marisol

lowers her voice And Bruno wants you in the back booth. Said "the usual," whatever that means.

She shrugged, already turning back to the bar. The gins clinked on your tray as you adjusted your grip. The hallway was dimmer, colder. The music faded to a throb—more heartbeat than song.

Bruno

settles back, tilting his head There she is.