Chapter Text
It was one of those nights where it seemed like the amber liquid in the crystal glass never ceased to end, regardless of how many sips were taken.
The gentle hum of jazz and light fingers on the delicate piano delighted the atmosphere, nicely complementing the woody bourbon aftertaste and the cigar smoke in the low air. The comfort of the plush, intricate leather against tailored suits and the crackle of blue, orange and red flames.
Hints of cutlery touching the gold-engraved china, of crystal hitting mahogany a little too harshly. Of concealed weapons hitting a little too close against the body. Of the smallest pitter patters of raindrops against tempered glass behind the dark crimson velvet curtains.
It was calm - a state of luxurious peace and quiet. The curtains shielding the light from the outside hustle and bustle of the giant city, a city without borders. Where anything and everything was allowed as far as imagination went. Guidelines to be followed, self-inflicted or enforced, yet almost exclusively broken all the time.
But here, within the limits of this building, there were rules.
Important, life-changing yet very simple, very few ones. Unspoken ones. Not a single table, writing or guidebook could be found anywhere on the premises. There was no need.
Rules every habitant, temporary or permanent, had to obey - which was not considerably hard to begin with. It could be baffling how many chose not to and succumbed to their weaker halves, no matter how many times they have been instilled in their brains or how severe the consequences had been in the previous cases of mischief.
Everybody knew. Everybody in this life of danger, sin and animalistic brutality knew yet how every action had a consequence. Every mistake had a price tag on it - a hefty gold coin or the unfriendly end of a sharp blade. Every kill usually came with some sort of chaos in the aftermath, sometimes in the silent cries of weeping widows, sometimes in the echoing sounds of even more bullets.
Thankfully, everybody behaved that night.
For now.
It was a prize to be earned these days to have a single night of peace and quiet. To have a drink in solitude, accompanied by the soothing music and the grumbling maze of your thoughts, bitter liquids making their way down your throat as they warmed you up.
The pianist would transition into a low and slow sonata as a delicate finger trailed around the thin, crystal Negroni glass while more calloused ones made themselves gently known on your covered back - a hovering touch, one that aims not to disturb but to awaken, to calm, to reassure. A touch that knew just how fast you and your senses could react upon intrusion and discomfort.
It’s just me.
Familiar hints of fresh air, linen and slightest musk calmed your senses as your sleep-deprived eyes stared at the soft bar light reflecting and simmering against the amber of your drink, its orange aroma reminding you of home. The owner of the lingering touch on your back making their way to the leather-bound stool on your right, a gentle smile on the corners of the lips. A smile many could miss, could mistake as a sarcastic or condescending little smirk. A genuine smile that not many could be on the receiving end of.
“Oh, dear.”
Eyes turning to the side following your body that merely adjusted to face the blue eyes, you kept leaning against your elbows on the mahogany with a quizzical expression on your face - but not without a soft curl of your lips.
It felt good to be in his presence, after all.
“I have never seen much good come out of a Negroni night for you, Miss.”
A chuckle escapes your lips, not the happiest one nor the saddest but one that is genuine at the generalized observation over your life patterns. What made your throat constrict, however, was not the uneasiness from the man or the alcohol as you took another sip in a hurry - but just how spot-on he was.
The vermouth running down you was not the answer to your prayer for comfort and for him to be wrong just once - but it brought fire.
Fire, so bright and so, so warm. Yellow and blue, orange and red, murderous yet cathartic.
Fire that engulfed the card as it darkened on your palm.
“Always the optimist, Winston.”
It was his turn to chuckle as he retracted the hand and laid his thin glasses down on the polished bar counter, his blue shirt complementing the designer navy suit that he always seemed to favor. A finger gently lifting to hint the bartender for another one of his classic drink.
Classy, yet subtle. Like all that made him, him.
A comfortable silence ensued as you took yet another sip, the ribbed needles of thoughts swarming through your mind, winning over the previous state of peace and quiet once they reminded of just why you were there while a part of yourself found solace with the comforting familiarity of the moment.
Winston. A safe spot in a not-so-safe city. Irresistible drinks and understanding silences that in fact, revealed everything.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked gently as he cut through the void, eyes not leaving your bloodshot ones, his Martini glass tilted in preparation for his sip. It was a question that meant no harm but made your jaw clench regardless, your tired but able body tense under the Armani.
In a world that let you survive often times by lying, it would not save you then. Behind those wondering, knowing eyes, he could read you like an open book - wasting all of those years of practicing the stoic poker face, the one that came out right before the kills or the big lies. It worked on most, hell, it worked on all of them before the big kills that brought you the sweet, green cash. The big lies that saved your life undercover. The situations that no one could survive unless they played their cards right.
Did not work on him either, apparently.
“Trouble would be all gone if you could help me out with one thing.”
To that, he would tilt his head curiously, setting the glass on the coaster with such grace, deviousness with a hint of worry shining in his eyes.
“You can ask John Wick to come join me for some bourbon.”