Vetra pulled Elliot straight into her chest with one arm, beer still in the other, grin wide across her face like she'd just won a prize she hadn't even tried that hard to win.

“C'mere," she said. “You're way too stiff for a night off."

He didn't have time to object. Her arm hooked behind his back and hauled him across the booth in a single smooth pull — not rough, just confident — until his face was pressed full into the top of her breasts. Her arm tightened once, briefly, like a hug. Then settled.

“Look at that," she murmured, low and amused. “Fits perfectly."

Elliot didn't respond. He stayed still. Not because he was comfortable — he wasn't — but because movement would acknowledge the situation, and acknowledging it would only make it worse. Her chest was warm. The scales there weren't like the ones on her arms. They were Softer. Less dense. He noted the difference and immediately stopped thinking about it.

She was drinking. That explained most of it.

Above him, Vetra gave a quiet hum of satisfaction. She took another sip of her beer, glass shifting lightly in her free hand. One claw tapped against the rim in a slow, idle rhythm. Her jaw lowered to rest on his head, and she nuzzled him once — casual, unthinking — like he was something warm she didn't want to put down.

“You really gotta loosen up," she said eventually, like she was speaking around the mouth of her glass. “One or two wouldn't kill you."

“I'm driving you home," Elliot replied.

“Just one," she said, grinning. “You could sip. It's not like they're gonna breath-test you on the way out."

“I'd prefer not to risk it."

“Oh, come on." She laughed — short, warm — and finally lifted her head, though her arm stayed snug behind him. “You could probably handle a drink and still out-drive half the idiots I've seen out there."

“Maybe," Elliot said. “But I promised I'd get you home safe."

That landed harder than she expected. Not loud. Not pointed. Just a promise, stated like it was the only thing that mattered. Her arm lingered a second longer before it slowly unhooked. She pulled back from the booth, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Well," she said, voice brightening with effort, “night's still young." She stood, her tail thumping lazily against the bench. Her hand tugged the hem of her shirt straight as she turned toward the bar. “You want anything?"

“Just a Coke," Elliot said. “No ice."

“Course you'd order that."

And she disappeared into the crowd. Elliot let the silence settle again — cool, even, familiar. Then waited.

Vetra moved slow through the crowd, drinks in hand, letting the noise roll past her. The alcohol had softened her edges. She liked that. Usually. But it also made her mind wander as well. She'd dragged Elliot out here. Her reasons made sense at the time. He rarely went anywhere. And she'd wanted… something. Company. To show him a good time. Have someone who didn't treat her like she was built wrong just because she was big and blunt and didn't walk soft.

But now, weaving back toward the booth, she realized this wasn't fun for him. She'd been too loud. Too touchy. Pulling him into her chest like she owned him. Why is she taking advantage of his good nature? She knew she wasn't pretty. Not like the ones with soft fur and delicate paws. She was heavy. Built for heat and leverage. Her voice could carry through a warehouse and back again, and most of the time that didn't bother her.

Most of the time.

She's too drunk to think straight. She let out a slow breath through her nose, tail flicking low behind her, and glanced ahead.

Then stopped.

There was someone at the booth. A female. She was seated across from him, leaned in like she already owned the space. Cobra, by the look — narrow frame, shimmering hood, scales the color of gold foil and pure white. Her tail coiled neatly under the table. Her smile was precise. Vetra's grip tightened slightly around the glasses.

She took one step forward, ready to cut in, to insert herself between them, but then froze when she caught the end of a sentence.

“—she's big," the cobra was saying, voice low and sweet. “Big and loud. Kind of a wreck, really. Not sure why someone like you lets something like that crawl all over you."

Vetra went still.

“She looked like she was trying to mate with you or mount you. Stars, maybe both." A soft hiss of laughter. “It's kind of sad, really. She had a grip like someone who doesn't get second chances."

The cobra smiled, sharp and smug. Then Elliot spoke.

“You shouldn't talk like that," he said, calm as ever. “Especially when you don't know who you're speaking to."

“Oh please," the cobra snorted. “She's not here."

“I am."

The cobra tilted her head, not quite laughing. “You're serious?"

“She asked me to come with her," Elliot said. “Because she trusts me and knows I'll show up when I say I will. When she finally gets to take a night off, she knows I'll keep her safe enough to enjoy it."

The cobra's hood flared slightly, a ripple of color shifting across her neck.

“That's sweet," she said, lips curling. “Didn't realize she needed a babysitter."

Elliot didn't hesitate. “At least she has someone who shows up for her. Can't say the same about you."

That cracked the smile. She recovered with a huff, flicking her tail under the table.

“She gives off that… loud kind of loneliness. Like if she holds on tight enough, someone might stay."

Elliot didn't blink. “She's not the one sitting at a stranger's table trying to feel wanted."

The cobra clicked her tongue. “Stars, you've got a real thing for the loud, rough types. Is that what does it? Big voice, big body, no grace?"

“I respect strength," Elliot replied. “But more than that, I love consistency. Vetra doesn't pretend to be anything she's not. You do."

The cobra's lips parted into a grin that didn't reach her eyes. “She's built like a shipping crate. All that weight and nothing to soften it. Not exactly what most people fantasize when they think 'desirable.'"

“She's not a fantasy," Elliot replied. “She doesn't have to be. She's real. Loud when she means to be, quiet when it counts. Doesn't perform for approval. Doesn't change depending on who's looking." He paused, just long enough to give the silence weight. “She makes sense," he added. “Which is more than I can say for what you've tried so far."

The cobra's brow twitched. She tilted her head slightly, as if to reset the balance, but Elliot kept going — not with force, but precision.

“And what about you?" he asked, calm as glass. “Polished scales. Controlled smile. Every word calculated to sound effortless, but just enough to cut." Her hood flexed — not fully, but sharp at the edges. “You walked up like you owned the space. Smiled like it was gold. Said something cruel and expected it to land like wit. All while pretending you were being charming."

She opened her mouth — to object, to deflect — but he cut through it cleanly.

“You must really hate your reflection," Elliot added. “Or maybe it's worse than that. Maybe you've spent so long shaping the surface, you don't even know what's underneath anymore."

Her smile vanished. Not slowly — completely.

“You don't know a damn thing about me."

“No," Elliot said, voice unchanged. “But I know your type." He leaned forward just slightly — not threatening. Just present. “I know how fast you showed your fangs. I know how shallow a person has to be to lead with someone else's insecurities just to feel tall for five minutes. And I know I've already heard more than enough to make me vomit."

The cobra stood fast — shoulders tight, tail twitching, hood wide. A flick of her hand, like she might reach for something. Or someone. Then she stopped. Vetra's hand landed on her shoulder. Calm. Centered. Her claws rested light but solid just above the joint — not pinning her, just reminding her that she could.

“You must've sat at the wrong table," Vetra said quietly, voice low and dry. The cobra turned, slow. Her eyes met Vetra's and stayed there. “You don't want to find out how wrong," Vetra added.

There was no growl behind it. No need. The certainty alone carried enough weight. The cobra stepped away. No apology. No defiance. She disappeared into the crowd like a shadow cut from the room. Vetra watched her go. Then slid back into the booth beside Elliot like nothing had happened, her drink in one hand, his Coke already passed over without comment. She leaned back in her seat, picked up her own glass, and stared at the melting rim for a beat before cracking a small grin.

“No wonder you order your soda with no ice," she said, nudging his arm with her elbow. “You're as cold-blooded as I am."

Elliot didn't react to the joke. Not with amusement. Not with annoyance. Just a slow, steady pause — like the heat hadn't quite cleared from him yet.

“I hate people like that," he said quietly. Vetra glanced at him, brow raised slightly, but didn't interrupt. “People who talk behind someone's back. Who think they're clever just because they're being cruel when no one else is looking. Like it makes them smart."

Elliot's voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be. The anger in it wasn't loud — just certain. Precise. Like someone pointing out a fault in a circuit that had already burned itself out. She wasn't used to seeing him like this. Every time she pushed, teased, leaned too far, he never snapped. But this wasn't nothing. It wasn't neutral.

He was angry.

“She didn't know anything about you," he said. “And I couldn't sit there and listen to her act like she did."

When he looked at Vetra, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. Just that same quiet certainty that he applied to everything else in his life — now directed at her. It knocked something loose in her chest. Not hard. Just enough to make her feel it. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that — like she was worth defending. Worth standing up for. Like the insult wasn't just noise.

She didn't know what to say.

So instead, she reached for him. One arm around his back, the other sliding behind his shoulders, and pulled him into her again. Not like before — not drunkenly, not teasing. She just wanted him close. She tucked his head against her chest and held it there, the warmth of her scaled stomach rising between them. Her jaw rested gently on the top of his head.

“You're a lot braver than I thought, Elliot." She said softly. Then, with a little smirk curling at the edge of her mouth, she added, “But next time, let me pick the fight, yeah? I don't want you getting hurt on my behalf."

Elliot didn't flinch. Didn't even shift.

“If someone talks down about you," he said, “I'll tell them the truth."

She pulled in a slow breath and let it out steady. She had to, or else his words would've made her do something she would have regretted. She loosened her grip. Sat upright again, grabbed her drink, and knocked it back without flinching.

Then, quietly, almost like a joke but not quite: “If you do... make sure I'm there to hear it."

“I will," Elliot said.

She stood. Her glass hit the edge of the table with a gentle click. Her tail moved with her again, lazy, loose, like her center of gravity had shifted.

“I'm ready to go home."

Elliot looked up. “You said the night was still young?"

She smiled down at him. It wasn't cocky. It wasn't guarded. Just real.

“It is," she said. “But turns out I've already had more fun than I expected."

As the two of them walked out, Vetra couldn't help but lean against Elliot. She was the one who was supposed to be chasing him... and yet he's the one who stole her heart.