— six years ago —

"Welcome to Nightlaza".

These holographic words floated above the square entrance of the bar, casting a soft blue glow all over the room. The metallic shine of the tables added to the elegant ambience, while the mocha brick walls gave the place a cozier feeling. A handful of people sat on the leather couches, chatting and sipping on drinks. Occasionally, they would place their finished drinks on the round coffee table; a hole would open up to swallow the empty glass, and a new glass of drink would take its place.

Across the entrance stood a giant shelf filled with liquor bottles, each of them glistening with a similar blue color. Behind the bar table was Darren, the only bartender available for the day. His silky blond hair was pulled into a neat bun, and he was wiping on a wine glass idly —a meaningless activity as all cups and glasses were automatically rinsed and cleaned, but there was really nothing else to do on a lazy Tuesday evening.

A faint bell ring notified him of a new customer, and he peeled his eyes away from the over-cleaned wine glass. Sauntering towards the bar table was a tall, brown-haired man. He was wearing a navy blue shirt that was way too tight for him. His permanent smirk and unfairly long eyelashes made Darren's hands itch to curl up into fists.

Oh, Darren definitely recognized this guy. He was one of them. An Operative.

Great, just great. Darren rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his mundane task. This was why he hated working in this place. Being a reasonable distance from the First Lady's headquarters, the Nightlaza bar was quite a hot spot for Operatives to visit. They frequented the bar in large groups and acted like a gang of thugs, making a huge ruckus and turning this laidback bar into a rowdy strip club within minutes.

As he was silently reminding himself to hunt for a new job, the newcomer settled right in front of him. "Hey, can I get a beer?"

Darren did not even bother looking up at him. "ID, please."

"ID?" the Operative scoffed. "Caroline never checks for ID."

Of course she didn't. To his boss, anyone old enough to become an Operative was old enough to drink. Not to him, though. He's not serving any underaged Operative. Or any Operative, for that matter.

"I'm not Caroline," Darren said flatly. "ID, please."

"Oh, come on, dude. I'm turning twenty-one real soon, like, in a few months, I swear."

Darren did not budge as he continued obsessing over the wine glass.

"Geez, who do I need to kill to get a beer around here?" the Operative complained as he threw his hands up in an exaggerated manner.

A small smile crept across Darren's face. "Do you mean that? You'd kill for a beer?"

The brunet perked up at the question. "Yes, sir. I'd literally kill for a good beer right now."

"Okay, then." Darren stared right into the man's twinkling, brown eyes. "I can give you a beer for free if you can kill someone for me."

"Oh?" The Operative raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. You've come to the right person, you know. I'm very skilled at killing people, whether I like it or not. Who is it?"

"You."

There was a long, awkward pause after that, while the two men locked eyes with each other uncomfortably. Darren suddenly regretted his poorly thought out joke. Operatives were insane creatures that were given those witch-like magic called Gifts. What if this man could blast his head off with a fireball, or something? Maybe he shouldn't have tried to provoke someone like that...

To his surprise, the brunet chortled. "Sure, I'll do it," he said with a wide grin. "Come on, give me a pint of your best, most expensive, draft beer."

Darren did not expect a reply like that, and so he was rendered speechless. Reluctantly, he gave the Operative a full mug of beer.

"Finally, thank you," the Operative said before immediately chugging down half the cup. He wiped his mouth and let out a relieved sigh. "So, not-Caroline, what do people usually call you?"

"Darren..."

"Darren. Cute name," he said with a wink. "I'm Ryan. Nice to meet you."

Darren frowned in response, and went back to cleaning more cups and glasses. He did not want to get too friendly with an Operative, especially someone who was as obnoxious as this guy. But it turned out that it was impossible ignoring someone who was not only sitting right in front of him, but also staring at him as if he was the most interesting artwork at a museum.

"Stop looking at me like that," Darren grumbled.

That did not seem to deter Ryan at all. "Why not?"

"Where are your friends? Don't you Operatives usually come here in packs like horny werewolves? You a loner, or something?"

Ryan shrugged. "It's a Tuesday. Nobody wants to come along. They're all training."

"And you don't need to train?"

"Oh, I need to. I'm actually the one Operative that needs to train the most. I just don't feel like it." With a large swig, he finished his beer. "Can I get another round?" Then, he laughed at Darren's irked glare. "Hey, I'm giving my life up for this, and I can't even get unlimited rounds of beer?"

Darren groaned as he prepared another mug of beer for the insatiable customer. "Are you trying to die by alcohol overdose?"

"Perhaps." Ryan chuckled.

Afterwards, the Operative kept initiating conversations, although it would always be cut short by Darren, who was adamant in keeping all their interactions as minimal as possible.

As the night progressed, however, Darren could not help but notice Ryan's gradual descent into sorrow. It was like the man had a wall erected around his heart, and the more he drank, the more the wall crumbled. That mischievous, lighthearted twinkle faded away, while a dull glaze of agony took over. Darren had seen enough people come and go during his bartending days to know that this guy had... issues. Major issues.

One more reason not to get involved with him.

Ryan managed to finish a few more pints before slumping onto the bar table, absolutely wasted, and mumbling to himself like a madman. Darren watched in exasperation, periodically reaching out to stop the drunken man from falling to the ground whenever he rolled over in slumber.

At last, it was 2 a.m. His shift had come to an end, but Ryan was still here.

Darren sighed and poked at the bed of curly, brown hair. "Hey, are you dead?"

Ryan stirred, but remained unconscious.

"Seriously, why do people drink so much if they're not able to take it?"

Staring at the Operative, Darren mused for a while. He could either leave this guy in the bar overnight, or bring him to his place for now. Letting out yet another sigh, he reluctantly decided on the latter. He was definitely charging him extra for this.

It turned out that the tall man was a lot heavier than he looked, and it was not an easy feat to heave him out of the bar. When they finally made it to his small studio apartment, Darren was sure he had exercised enough for the rest of the year.

Exhausted, he dropped Ryan onto his own bed, which he immediately realized to be a terrible idea. Why did he do that? Where was he, the person who actually paid the rent, going to sleep? He groaned out loud when he saw Ryan roll over and spread himself out, as though he owned the entire bed. Great, now he definitely did not have any space for himself.

As he leaned over to push Ryan to one side, he heard him mumble again. But for the first time all night, it was something that was coherent.

"Lara... I'm sorry..."

Lara?

Darren felt like he was punched in the gut. So this guy had a girlfriend this whole time? Why the hell was he looking at him like that the whole night then? His jaw clenched in ire. He should have known that these Operatives should never be trusted. Instantly, all semblance of niceness and prudence flew out the window as Darren forcefully yanked Ryan up by the collar and the hair.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Ryan yelped, as he subconsciously pushed his hands out in protest.

"You! Are! Sleeping! On the! Couch! Get! Off!" Darren snapped, slapping Ryan's hands away after every sentence.

Suddenly, Ryan lunged at him. They both crashed onto the bed, with Ryan's arms wrapped around Darren's waist.

"Hey, if you're awake, go home!" Darren exclaimed, struggling under the Operative's weight. His hair tie had come off during the scuffle, causing his long, blond hair to sprawl messily around his torso. As if by instinct, Ryan buried his head into Darren's hair, his arms still tightly holding onto Darren.

"Argh, get off me!" Darren squirmed around, but Ryan was a lot stronger than him. "Go back to your girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Mom..." Ryan croaked.

Hearing that, Darren stopped moving. The brunet took the chance and pushed his head further into the cloak of blond hair. His head landed onto Darren's shoulder, while his warm breath, still stinking of alcohol, sent a strangely comforting sensation down Darren's neck.

Darren let out a long, resigned sign. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Ryan's head. The sleeping Ryan did not look as annoying and punchable as before, which was a nice change. Then, with a pounding heart, Darren closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Darren woke up alone. A plate of freshly cooked eggs and bacon sat on his bedside table, but Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

— —

Ryan finally showed up to the bar more than a week later. Not that Darren had been waiting for him or anything. And this time, he had come with his Operative friends. They hung around in a corner of the bar with a group of ladies for most of the night. Not that Darren was upset about that or anything.

After a while, Ryan left the group and approached the bar table. "Hey there," he said with his usual aggravating smirk. "Nice seeing you again."

Darren pursed his lips and averted his face. "Why are you still alive?" he spat. "When are you going to pay up for your beer?"

Ryan looked mildly taken aback before he doubled over in laughter. "Sorry, sorry. I promise you, I'll pay you back one day, okay?"

"Shut the fuck up..." The Operative's nonchalant attitude made Darren even more sullen. "So who's Lara? Your girlfriend?"

"What? Are you jealous?" Ryan raised his eyebrows. "You spent a night with me and you're already so attached? I mean, understandable, I know I have that effect on people."

Darren rolled his eyes. "You're literally the worst person I've ever met."

"You're probably right." Ryan chuckled. Then, his smile subsided when he added, "Lara's my sister, by the way."

"Oh." Darren's expression softened. "Is your sister an Operative too?" he whispered.

Ryan shook his head. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"Madam is setting her up to be one." Ryan lowered his head. "And she really wants to be one too."

Darren stared at the unusually solemn Operative. They sat in silence for a while, before he muttered under his breath, "Why would anybody want to become an Operative?"

Ryan shrugged. "She thinks it's cool. Like superheroes, fighting for justice, ending the reigns of terror of the Turned Realms, blah blah blah. I keep trying to tell her that it's a bad idea but she's not getting it. She really looks up to Operatives." He paused for a while before adding, "Not me, though. She thinks I'm a loser."

Darren snorted. "Damn straight you are."

The signature smirk came back onto Ryan's face. "Says the college dropout working in the shittiest bar in town."

"How do you-" Darren's ears turned pink. "I- I couldn't afford it anymore, okay."

Ryan laughed as he reached his hand out to squeeze Darren's cheek. "Who cares about college anyway. Get out of here. Save up your money and go to a different realm."

Darren slapped the Operative's hand away, scowling. "I don't want to. I'm from here. My family was from here. I'm never leaving Earth."

"That's the stupidest reason I've ever heard," Ryan said with a snort. "If you were to say something about how the other realms might discriminate against Earthlings or how your life might be slightly harder because of that, I might understand. But you were born here? That's bull." He glanced at Darren. "Your family isn't even here anymore too, why do you care?"

Darren felt his blood boil. Did this guy... sneak around his apartment the other day? He had never wanted to stick his fist into someone's eye more badly in his entire life. With a pair of trembling hands, he pulled Ryan out of his seat by the collar. "Suck a dick, asshole."

"Sure, yeah." The brunet wiggled his eyebrows cheekily. "I can do that for you."

This time, Darren's entire head turned pink. He quickly pushed Ryan away. "S- Shut the fuck up..."

Ryan tried to laugh, but his face contorted into a wince as his hand shot up to his chest. Darren was startled by that reaction, and he suddenly noticed that there was a new scar on Ryan's neck.

"What's wrong with you?" Darren asked. He tried to touch the scar but Ryan jerked away.

"Nothing," he said curtly. When he noticed Caroline walking towards them, his tone changed again. "Although be more careful next time, Darren, I can't stay over too late. Us Operatives have curfews, you know?"

That annoying bastard had said it loud enough for Darren's boss to hear, which prompted an astonished gasp from her. "Oh. My. God. Are the two of you together?" Caroline gushed, clasping her hands together. "Darren! Why didn't you tell me?"

"No, no!" Darren shook his hands around, flustered. "Caroline, it's not what you th-"

Caroline squealed and dashed off anyway, presumably to tell everyone in the bar and everyone in the area about this news.

Darren groaned and buried his head into hands. "You just killed my chance of ever getting into a real relationship."

"Hey, don't blame your virginity on me, it's not my fault."

"I can't believe an underaged person is saying this shit to me."

Once again, Ryan laughed. Curiously, his smile no longer felt aggravating; it was actually pleasant and amicable. So he was perfectly capable of being a normal, nice person; why was he always coating everything he did with a feigned layer of arrogance, then? It was as if he was acting the role of a wretched jerk all the time, as if he was trying his best to stop people from liking him, from knowing who he really was.

Something grew inside Darren's heart, something that made his stomach flutter and his chest tickle. It was like a tiny orchid within him —petals as white as Ryan's skin— was slowly opening up to this dark, bleak world.

He gave Ryan a gentle smack on the head, before taking his now-empty mug for a refill.