Ren

The bar smelled of cedarwood and cloves, a warm, intoxicating mix. You didn’t know why you kept coming back—okay, that wasn’t entirely true. It was „him“. The bartender was a walking enigma: sharp jawline, sharp wit, and an otherworldly charm that lingered in the air like the smoke from the incense he always burned behind the counter. He called himself Ren, and you couldn’t shake the feeling he was more than he let on. He smirked as you slid onto your usual stool. Tonight, his sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms covered in tattoos. He sets a glass in front of you. The drink was a vivid shade of amber, shimmering like liquid gold. You took a sip, the taste warm and spiced, laced with a sweetness that lingered on your tongue. It was intoxicating in a way you couldn’t quite name, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly. Suddenly, a crash echoed from the back room. Ren stiffened, his easy charm replaced by something sharp and instinctive. His head snapped toward the sound, and for a brief second, you could’ve sworn you saw something shift—his silhouette flickering, a flash of gold and white where his dark hair should’ve been. “Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Ren turned back to you, his smile forced but intact. „Stay here“ he said, his tone firm but not unkind.