The bar had everything from girls laughing, couples action, glasses clinking, muffled bass from the DJ's booth pounding like a second heartbeat, but Darren wasn't there to party. He sat at the far end of the counter, drinking his third whiskey, staring into the amber swirl like it held all the answers he never got in this world.
He rubbed a tired hand over his face. Two months sober until tonight. A relapse, one mistake in a long line of many, but it was quiet here, at least in his head. The kind of quiet that came after wreckage.
"Is this seat taken?"
Darren turned and looked. A woman in a black silk dress stood beside him, lips red, eyeliner slightly smudged like she'd been crying or maybe she just didn't care anymore.
"Nope," he muttered, sliding his jacket off the bar stool beside him.
She sat without waiting for a real invitation. "Thanks."
The silence between them lingered. She didn't speak, and he didn't pry. She ordered something strong, downed half of it without a wince. Darren tilted his glass in her direction.
"Bad day?" he asked.
Ashley chuckled, bitter and quiet. "Bad year."
He nodded. "I get that."
She looked at him finally really looked. His sharp jaw, the tired eyes, the scruff like he hadn't shaved in a month. He looked worn, like life had taken him for a ride and left him at the wrong stop.
"I just left a dinner where my mother told me I'm engaged," she said flatly.
Darren blinked. "Congratulations?"
She rolled her eyes. "To a man I don't even like. Let alone love."
"Oof." He took another sip. "So, arranged?"
"Forced," she corrected. "It's all about money and family alliances. I'm just the bargaining chip."
"That's messed up."
Ashley stared at her drink. "Yeah, But I'm used to it."
Darren hesitated, then said, "I was supposed to be six months sober today."
She turned toward him, eyebrows raised. "Supposed to be?"
He shrugged. "Some anniversaries you celebrate with cake and some with whiskey."
Ashley snorted, then covered her mouth, surprised she'd laughed. Darren smirked. It was the first genuine moment either of them had felt all night.
"I'm Darren," he offered, holding out a hand.
"Ashley."
Their hands met, warm and a little unsure. There was something strange about the way their fingers lingered.
"You come here often?" she asked, voice playful now.
Darren smiled. "You just used the most overused line in the book."
"Maybe I want a cliché tonight."
A beat passed between them. Long enough for the air to shift.
"Dance with me?" she asked suddenly.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Why not?"
They danced under flickering neon lights, too close, too fast. The music was loud, but their thoughts were louder. She laughed when he stepped on her toes. He laughed when she almost fell backward. Strangers, spinning in chaos. Two broken people colliding like meteorites in the dark.
Sometime after midnight, they stumbled out into the night air. The city buzzed around them, but they didn't hear it.
"Want to come up?" she whispered, outside her apartment.
He didn't answer with words and just followed her.
Inside her apartment a lot happened. More than what Darren expectacted to happen, because he only thought he was going inside only for coffee.