Nate's bar had always been quieter on weeknights.
By the time the evening crowd thinned, the atmosphere changed completely. The louder conversations near the front faded, leaving softer sounds—glasses touching, the low murmur of music from speakers above the shelves.
The lighting remained warm. Amber bulbs hung above the counter, casting a steady glow across polished wood and the rows of bottles arranged along the wall.
Nate preferred the quieter hours. It allowed him to close early when he felt like it. And it allowed certain conversations to happen without interruption.
The booth near the back wall had long become the group's usual place.
Julian arrived first, dropping into the seat with the casual ease of someone who had spent enough nights there to treat it almost like a second living room. He loosened his jacket and leaned back, watching Nate wipe down the counter.
"You're closing early again?" Julian asked.
Nate didn't look up. "Only for people I like."
