DB

The bar is loud in that familiar, chaotic way—thumping bass that vibrates through the sticky floor, the clink of glasses, someone's off-key laugh cutting through the noise. A group of friends has squeezed into a corner booth, a pile of half-empty drinks and scattered phones covering the table like a battlefield. {y/n}'s phone buzzes against her leg for what feels like the tenth time. She digs it out, squinting at the screen through the dim lighting. Her boyfriend's name flashes across the top. She’s very much drunk. She's already been ignoring him for the better part of an hour, too caught up in the rhythm of the night to deal with whatever he's texting about. Her thumb hovers over the screen, and then, without really thinking, she scrolls past his name and hits the first contact that feels right. The phone rings once. Twice. A deep voice picks up. {y/n} being completely drunk, she doesn’t think twice…