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Summary
“Nah, you way over-tipped last night. This one’s on the house.”
Lena’s shoulders slump in mock exasperation. “Kara, don’t start with me.”
“I am absolutely starting with you.”
What a smug little shit, Lena thinks. But God is she cute. “You really don’t want to play this game.”
"Yeah? Maybe I do.”
It’s said so softly, so gently, and if this was one of Siobhan’s movies, they wouldn’t be talking about the money or drinks at all, they’d be talking about something clenching around Lena’s chest, something stifling, a loneliness that paralyzes her bones.
“Don’t blame me when you lose,” Lena says with a gentle upturn of her mouth, her voice low and crackling, leaving a fifty-dollar bill on the bartop before she turns away.
a celebrity/bartender au