The first time Noah met Oliver, it was past midnight, and the city was humming with life.

Noah, twenty-three and fresh out of university, was delivering takeout on his bike when he got lost in an unfamiliar part of town. That’s when he spotted him—a man in his late thirties, leaning against a sleek black car, cigarette in hand, looking like he belonged in an old noir film.

“You look lost,” the man observed, his voice smooth and low.

Noah hesitated. “Uh—yeah. I think my GPS is messing with me.”

The man chuckled, tapping ash onto the pavement. “Where are you trying to go?”

Noah told him, and the man—Oliver, as he later introduced himself—gave him directions effortlessly, as if he knew every street by heart.

“Thanks,” Noah said, about to pedal away.

But Oliver smirked. “You deliver here often?”

Noah shook his head. “First time.”

Oliver exhaled smoke, watching him. “Pity.”

Something about the way he said it made Noah’s pulse quicken. He should have left then, but instead, he asked, “Why?”

Oliver’s gaze lingered, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Because I think I’d like seeing you around.”

And with that, Noah rode off—heart pounding—knowing he’d probably find an excuse to come back.

Noah told himself he wasn’t going back for him. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

But two nights later, he found himself in the same neighborhood, takeout bag in hand, pretending it was just another delivery.

Except this time, Oliver was already there, leaning against his car like he’d been waiting.

“Lost again?” Oliver asked, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

Noah huffed, trying to act indifferent. “Just working.”

Oliver nodded toward the bag. “Who’s the lucky customer?”

Noah glanced at the receipt. “Uh… 42B.”

Oliver smirked. “Shame. If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve ordered something.”

Noah felt his face warm. He wasn’t sure if Oliver was flirting or just messing with him, but there was something about him—his effortless confidence, the way he seemed completely unbothered by the world—that made Noah feel both intrigued and wary.

“You always hang around here?” Noah asked, shifting his weight.

Oliver took a slow drag of his cigarette. “I own the bar around the corner.”

Noah blinked. “Wait—Midnight & Co.? That fancy place with the overpriced cocktails?”

Oliver chuckled. “Overpriced, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Noah admitted. “But people say it’s good.”

Oliver’s smirk deepened. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

Noah hesitated. He wasn’t sure what this was—what Oliver wanted from him. But before he could second-guess himself, Oliver pulled a card from his pocket and slipped it into Noah’s free hand.

“Come by sometime,” Oliver said, his fingers brushing against Noah’s for just a second too long. “First drink’s on me.”

And then, just like before, Oliver walked away, leaving Noah standing there—heart racing, fingers curled around the card, knowing he was already in deeper than he should be.

to be continued

Noah stared at the card long after Oliver had disappeared down the street. Midnight & Co.—the name was printed in sleek, silver letters, and beneath it, Oliver’s full name: Oliver Hayes, Owner.

He should’ve shoved it into his pocket and moved on. Instead, he turned it over in his hands, feeling the smooth edges, tracing the embossed letters with his thumb. He wasn’t sure why this man had such an effect on him. Maybe it was the confidence. The way Oliver seemed so sure of himself, like nothing could shake him.

Noah wasn’t used to that. People his age were all figuring it out—jobs, relationships, life. But Oliver? He was past all of that. He looked like a man who already knew exactly what he wanted.

And for some reason, that unsettled Noah.

Still, two nights later, he found himself standing outside Midnight & Co., pretending he wasn’t nervous.

The bar was dimly lit, all dark wood and velvet seating, the kind of place where people whispered secrets over expensive whiskey. A soft hum of jazz played in the background.

Noah hesitated near the entrance, wondering if this was a mistake. He wasn’t exactly the type to be in a place like this. He was used to cheap beer and neon-lit student bars, not whatever this was.

Then he spotted Oliver.

He was behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, fingers deftly mixing a drink. He looked effortlessly elegant, as if he belonged in an old movie—timeless, untouchable. But the moment he looked up and saw Noah, something flickered in his eyes.

Oliver smirked, setting down the glass. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Noah crossed his arms, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened. “You did offer me a free drink.”

Oliver chuckled, reaching for a bottle. “Fair enough. What’ll it be?”

Noah hesitated. He didn’t know fancy cocktails. “Uh… surprise me?”

Oliver arched a brow. “Dangerous choice.” But he was already moving, pouring something golden into a glass, adding a twist of citrus. When he slid it across the bar, his fingers brushed Noah’s again—light, intentional.

Noah swallowed.

Oliver leaned in slightly, resting his elbows on the bar. “So, tell me, Noah… are you always this reckless?”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Coming to a bar for a free drink is reckless?”

Oliver’s smirk deepened. “Coming to my bar? Maybe.”

Noah took a sip of the drink—it was smooth, strong, with a hint of sweetness. He glanced at Oliver, tilting his head. “You think I should be scared of you?”

Oliver’s gaze lingered on him, unreadable. “Not scared. Just careful.”

Noah should’ve listened.

But instead, he smirked back. “Too late.”

And just like that, the game had begun.

Noah told himself he was only staying for one drink.

But one drink turned into two. Then three.

Oliver had a way of making time feel like it was slipping through his fingers. The way he moved, the way he spoke—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and somehow made Noah feel like he did too.

“Where’d you learn to bartend?” Noah asked, watching as Oliver poured a deep amber liquid into a glass.

Oliver leaned on the counter, twirling the glass in his hand. “London. I lived there for a while.”

“Fancy.”

Oliver smirked. “Not as glamorous as you think. I was twenty-one, broke, and needed a job. So I learned how to mix drinks. Turns out, I was good at it.”

Noah took another sip of his cocktail, the warmth settling in his chest. “So what made you come back?”

Oliver’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. But it was gone in an instant. “Some places don’t feel like home, no matter how long you stay.”

Noah didn’t press. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like Oliver wasn’t the kind of man who answered questions he didn’t want to.

Instead, he leaned back, watching Oliver in the dim light of the bar. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight shadow of stubble, the way he rolled his sleeves up just enough to show the veins on his forearms.

He was handsome in a way that felt unfair. Not just good-looking, but dangerous.

Oliver caught him staring and smirked. “Careful, Noah. You keep looking at me like that, I might think you have a crush.”

Noah scoffed, trying to ignore the way his face heated. “Maybe I just like free drinks.”

Oliver chuckled, low and amused. “Then I should start charging you.”

Noah grinned. “Too late.”

Oliver shook his head, eyes glinting. “You’re trouble.”

Noah shrugged, setting his empty glass down. “So are you.”

Oliver studied him for a long moment,

to be continued

Oliver didn’t reply right away. He just stared at Noah, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. The air between them had shifted, thick with something unspoken.

“You keep saying that,” Oliver murmured. “‘Too late.’”

Noah shrugged, resting his chin on his hand. “Maybe because it is.”

Oliver exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you?”

Noah tilted his head, playful but curious. “Then tell me.”

Oliver watched him for a long moment, like he was weighing something. Then he leaned in, voice lower now, more serious. “I don’t do casual.”

The words hung between them, heavy. A warning.

Noah swallowed but didn’t look away. “Who said I was looking for casual?”

Oliver’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, something restrained.

“You should go home, Noah,” Oliver finally said, straightening. His voice was quiet but firm.

Noah’s stomach twisted in something close to disappointment. He knew when he was being pushed away. He should have just nodded and left, pretended none of this ever happened.

But instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of Oliver’s cologne—warm, rich, and entirely distracting.

“Why?” Noah asked softly.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Because you’re young.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a real reason.”

Oliver exhaled through his nose, looking almost amused. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then let me.” The words came out before Noah could stop them. But he meant them.

Oliver studied him, long and slow, like he was trying to decide if Noah was worth the trouble. The silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of jazz and the soft clinking of glasses behind the bar.

Then, finally, Oliver sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen. He grabbed a napkin, scribbled something down, and slid it across the counter.

His number.

Noah stared at it, heart pounding just a little harder than he’d like to admit.

Oliver met his eyes, his voice calm but firm. “If you call, be sure you know what you want.”

Noah took the napkin, folding it carefully. He didn’t say thank you—it wasn’t that kind of moment. Instead, he smirked, slipping it into his pocket.

“I already do.”

Oliver’s lips quirked, but he said nothing.

Noah left the bar that night feeling electrified, like he had just stepped into something far bigger than he’d planned.

And for the first time in a long time, Oliver watched someone walk away, wondering if he should have let them in at all.

Noah stared at the napkin on his nightstand for three days.

He told himself he wasn’t waiting. That he wasn’t thinking about Oliver more than he should. But every time his phone buzzed, he caught himself hoping.

It was stupid. He barely knew the man. And yet, there was something about him—something about the way he carried himself, like he had already lived a hundred lives while Noah was still figuring out his first.

Maybe that was the appeal.

On the fourth night, after way too much overthinking, Noah grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“I was wondering when you’d call.”

Noah froze. He hadn’t expected Oliver to pick up so fast.

“You—uh. Hey.”

Oliver chuckled, smooth and unbothered. “Hey.”

Noah exhaled, forcing himself to relax. “So… what now?”

“You tell me,” Oliver said. “You were the one who called.”

Noah licked his lips, hesitating. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But he didn’t want to play games—not with Oliver.

“I want to see you,” Noah admitted.

There was a pause. A long, thoughtful kind of silence. Then—

“Midnight & Co. closes in an hour,” Oliver said. “Come by.”

Noah barely had time to respond before the line clicked dead.

He stared at his phone, heart hammering.

What the hell was he doing?

---

It was almost one in the morning when Noah stepped inside Midnight & Co.. The bar was empty now, chairs stacked, lights dimmed. Oliver stood behind the counter, rolling up his sleeves.

“You made it,” Oliver murmured, watching him.

Noah shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You asked me to.”

Oliver smirked. “You always do what you’re told?”

Noah stepped closer, leaning against the bar. “Not usually.”

Oliver chuckled, pouring himself a drink. “So… why me?”

Noah didn’t have a simple answer for that. Instead, he rested his elbows on the counter, meeting Oliver’s gaze. “Why did you give me your number?”

Oliver exhaled slowly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Maybe I was curious.”

“About what?”

Oliver studied him, his expression unreadable. Then, setting his glass down, he leaned in—close enough that Noah could feel the warmth of his breath.

“If you know what you’re asking for.”

Noah’s pulse skipped. He knew what Oliver was doing—pushing, testing. But Noah wasn’t backing down.

So he tilted his chin up slightly, meeting Oliver’s gaze head-on. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Oliver’s eyes darkened just slightly—something shifting behind them, something Noah definitely wasn’t imagining.

Then, with the faintest smirk, Oliver reached past him, flipping the lock on the door.

“Alright then,” Oliver murmured. “Let’s find out.”

to be continued