Chapter Text
The bar was unusually quiet for a Friday night. Simon had come in to cover a shift at the last minute and was slowly realising that it probably wasn’t worth dragging himself away from his TV to serve a handful of regulars and the small group talking in the corner.
It was a small bar with the remnants of a space theme inside- a few vintage alien posters and some overtly cheesy cocktails that Simon enjoyed watching macho-looking guys try to order. The outside was rather unassuming, its entrance hidden down an alleyway, only signposted by low lights and chatter streaming from the window, as well as a weathered dark blue sign with red neon letters reading ‘The Hail Mary.’
Simon leant on the bar, having tidied, restocked and polished the whole thing beyond belief, and debated whether to go home and leave his 22-year-old employee in charge for the rest of the night, or take one for the team and send him home.
“Tyler!” He shouted into the staff room, peering past the AREA 51 sign hanging over the door. Tyler appeared in a cloud of vape smoke, having definitely been caught by surprise, as he attempted to hide the silver dab pen in his hoodie’s ripped pocket. “Yeah?” he coughed. Fuck.
Having sent the stoner home, Simon stood watching the alien’s big hand slowly tick in the UFO-shaped clock, tapping some song or other on the sticky bar mat when a tall blond man with glasses and an orange jacket ambled up to the bar. He leaned one elbow in front of Simon and held three fingers up, concerningly close to the shorter man’s face. “Plleeease can I get 3 more beers?” he slurred, staring Simon up and down, his eyes landing on the menu hanging just behind his head. “No! I lieedd! 2 beers and ooooneee..” He drummed his fingers on the bar, holding the note.
Simon was (unsurprisingly) used to drunk people and this man didn’t seem to be doing any harm, so he watched him wave his finger around nonjudgementally, subtly dodging its accidental prods by beginning to pour the beers. “Dark side of the Mooon-tiiini!” the drunk man decided, stabbing his finger at the empty space Simon had ducked out of. Simon nodded and pushed the beers towards him, smirking only once he had turned his back to mix the drink.
“What a weeird name for a drink,” the voice came from behind him, “did you pick em?”
“Uhh no I didn’t,” Simon responded in his low voice, not turning to face him “they came from my old boss and his space obsession.”
“Ahhh sweeet! I loove space. My buddy over there loves it even more, that's why he brought us here.” He gestured vaguely to the table in the corner, where Simon turned to see two figures sitting in the dimly lit corner booth.
Their faces were barely visible, but Simon could feel their concerned stares from across the room, watching the blond man attempt to balance the two beer glasses on top of each other. Simon put the finishing touches on the drink (edible glitter and a small umbrella) and slid it towards the jenga tower building in the swaying man’s arms. “Woaaahhh!! Thank you! This looks soo gre-” he was cut off by a dark haired man leaning over his shoulder and rescuing the top beer before it spilled down his t-shirt, which showed a periodic table and what Simon could assume was some pun above it.
“Woah, I’ve got it buddy,” the beer-rescuer says, patting him on the shoulder. The blond man looked up to greet his friend and put the other beer down to swing an arm around the tall man's shoulder. “LOOK at this drink!” He flourished towards the blue and purple swirling drink sitting in front of Simon.
“Damn bud, that looks great!” the man responded, with the kind of tone you’d use with a child showing off a cartwheel. Simon gave them both a half smile in gratitude and pushed the card machine in between them. The blond man grinned back and spun on his heel, holding the glass in both his hands like a child, “Thaaannnkkss Roockk” he slurred. Simon raised an eyebrow and the man exhaled with a smile, tapping his card on the screen. “His girlfriend just broke up with him, so we’ve taken him out for…” he looked over to see the other figure in the corner ushering the staggering man back, ensuring the glittery drink didn’t fly everywhere, “a lot of drinks.” Simon gave a small smile and nodded faux-knowingly.
In reality, he had no idea what that was like. He’d never been broken up with, nor broken up with anyone. He wasn’t exactly a virgin, he’d hooked up with a few girls as a teenager and, once he’d left Eden, a couple of guys, but nothing had lasted. It was easier that way, he had told himself, he had enough going on in his life, plus his upbringing hadn’t exactly lent itself to longstanding emotional connections. He nodded at the card machine “You’re all good.”
“Thanks,” the taller man smiled, picked up the remaining beers and wandered back over to the corner booth.
The bar picked up a bit in the few hours before closing, keeping Simon busy and his attention away from the group in the corner. He liked the repetitive nature of his job, pouring pints and mixing drinks from memory.
He was a large man with long black hair that fell around his face, obscuring several scars littered across it. He was wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt that did him a lot of favours, particularly in drawing attention away from his missing left arm. His appearance lent itself to being a bar manager, as very few people gave him any trouble unless they were stupidly drunk. Or just stupid.
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Ryland Grace was only the former. Sat with his closest friends, the middle school teacher was desperately trying to drink away his break up. It was a long time coming and he knew that they had drifted apart, especially after the conference and the depression that had followed. He knew it was probably for the best but he hadn’t been single in years and the idea of being alone made him feel sick. So there he was.
He’d been friends with Rocky since university and it was when they started teaching together at Grover Cleveland Middle School that they met Adrian. Rocky taught physics and Adrian was the school’s librarian, and within 2 months of Rocky working there they had begun dating. That was 10 years ago. In that time the three of them had become an unstoppable force, and that continued this evening.
“And then on my birthday!” Grace laugh-screamed, slamming his hand down on the table, “I made HER breakfast!!” he fell onto the table, chuckling that slowly turned to sobbing.
“She never got me a birthday present.” Adrian added, taking another sip of their beer. Rocky shot them a look but Grace snapped his neck up and stared at them, mouth open.
“SHE DIDN’T?!”
“NO!” Adrian matched his unnecessary amount of energy, slamming their hands on the table with a fake horrified face.
“GOD she is the worst. She is the absolute worst, I can’t believe I spent so much of my life with her,” Grace rambled, shaking his head and twirling his straw, “so much time and for what?! God she sucks so bad I should text her. I should check what she’s doing right now because I bet she’d love to hear from me, I mean it’s been a whole day, maybe she’s changed her mind…”
He’d ended up with his head on the table, murmuring into the napkin next to his glass.
Rocky and Adrian shared a look over their best friend’s back and, without words, decided that it was time to go. “C’mon buddy, let’s get going.” Rocky said, a hand on the top of Grace’s back.
Grace squeezed his eyes together, and, as he opened them, his gaze fell on the man behind the bar. The bartender was polishing a glass and talking to a group of girls hanging on his every word. His hair was long, but not scruffy, he had a very defined jaw and day-old stubble decorating his chin. In other words, he was very attractive.
Grace had only ever dated women, his sexuality wasn’t something he’d thought all that much about. He found men attractive, sure, but not enough to initiate anything. Unless, of course, he was stupidly drunk. Which he was.
“I have a better idea,” Grace said, sitting up with his eyes still fixed on the bartender, “shots?!”
Against their better judgement, Rocky and Adrian followed the stumbling Grace to the bar.
“3 shots of tequila kind sir!” Grace asked with a massive grin, slamming his hands down.
The bartender leaned away from the girls still crowding around him, nodding and producing three shot glasses from under the bar.
“He’s gorgeous.” Grace whisper-shouted to Rocky over his shoulder. Rocky chuckled and turned to mouth to Adrian behind Grace’s back, “That was quick!”
“You know who else was gorg-”
“Three shots of tequila.” To everyone's relief, the gorgeous bartender interrupted and placed the shot glasses on the bar, along with three slices of lime and a salt shaker.
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Some would say working in a bar gives you super hearing, and Simon would agree. Which usually comes in handy for interrupting garbled orders at 3am on a Saturday, but overhearing the blond guy with wonky glasses, a stupid t-shirt and a nice smile call him “gorgeous” was a bonus.
Unfortunately, it did not come with selective hearing as he did hear the follow up comparison to, Simon guessed, the man’s ex. Thankfully, he chose to cut him off and supply him with the nearest solution. Tequila.
The three of them licked the salt off their hands, took the shot, then squeezed the lime into their mouths. Simon watched them, taking the group in. On the left stood the ‘beer rescuer’ from earlier.
His dark hair had purposeful grey streaks in certain patches and he had large brown glasses that were wedged on his tan face, squeezing his nose. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and straight legged trousers, and coughed roughly after taking the shot.
The noise was drowned out, however, by the choking sounds coming from the taller, blond man in the middle. He’d taken his jacket off to reveal that the t-shirt read “I wear this shirt periodically.”
“You alright Grace?” said the person stood to his right. They were the tallest out of the three, with long, dark curls, light brown skin and a calm look permanently on their face. They had long purple earrings and a green button up shirt. The calmness extended to the way they took the shot, and placed a caring hand on Grace’s back.
“I’m good!” he spluttered, shaking his face like a wet dog. Simon caught the corner of his mouth turn up and spun away quickly, grabbing the card machine.
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“I’m gonna find us an uber,” Adrian said, “Is there better reception outside?”
The bartender nodded in response and Adrian slid away from the bar, patting Grace on the back, “Hang out here for a sec, I’m gonna find Rocky and grab an uber, I’ll text you when it's on its way.”
Grace responded with a smile and a thumbs up, his head leaning on his hand. Rocky had gone to the toilet after the shot, and had seemingly gotten lost on the way back. Grace watched Adrian walk up to their husband and gesture outside, he then closed his eyes to try and get the room to stop spinning.
He historically didn’t drink a lot, even at university, so he was still a lightweight at the age of 35. Therefore, four beers, a few shots and a hilariously named cocktail would finish him off very easily. Evidently.
The bartender kept an eye on him, sliding a glass of water in his direction. Grace stared up at him and nodded appreciatively, closing his eyes and picking the glass up with both hands and holding it close to his face. As he lifted it up he knocked his glasses off his nose where they had been balancing, causing them to bounce off the bar mat and onto the floor on the other side of the bar.
“Sugar! I’m so sorry,” Grace exclaimed and tried to reach over the bar, pushing his water over in the process. “Shit shit shit.” He abandoned his teacher's habit of censoring himself and grasped at a pile of tissues, haphazardly throwing them in the direction of the other man’s crotch.
“Ah it’s fine,” he responded, stepping out of the firing line of Grace’s pointless efforts to bend down and pick up the glasses, “at least it was water.”
“Hey at least it was,” Grace gave up trying to dry thin air and accepted the glasses back and pushed them onto his nose.
He hung his head slightly, hiccuping and covering his mouth, “M’sorry, I promise I don’t usually drink this much, it’s been a long few days.”
“Your friend mentioned,” he replied, gesturing outside to where Rocky and Adrian were tucked under the awning, looking at one of their phones to track down a mystery uber.
“Of course he did. God, that man loves spreading my business, I bet you don’t have that problem.” He was holding the glass up so the other man could wipe underneath it with a cloth.
“No, my friends usually keep my business to themselves.”
“Aha, no, I meant I’m sure you’ve never been broken up with.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Oh really? I think I would be, you are aaa,” Grace held the ‘a’, trying to will his drunk brain not to finish that thought, “...beautiful man.” Frick.
The two men stared at each other for a second of semi-awkward silence, before being interrupted by a shout from the door, “Hey I’ve been texting you, the uber’s here!”
With that, Grace stood up, gave a painful wave and finger gun to the bartender, walked the ten paces out the door, and promptly threw up on the pavement, having made it out of the man’s line of sight.
Unfortunately, some bartenders also have super sight as well as hearing.
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Simon stood behind the bar, taken aback by the series of events that had just been laid out before him. His trousers were still damp, there was a puddle by his feet, a pile of sick outside and, worst of all, he was blushing.
He could see the blond man being bundled into the car, holding his mouth and a tissue his friend had produced from their pocket. They had turned around and mouthed ‘Sorry!’ to Simon once realising the sick was very much on his property. He appreciated the gesture.
Once the storm had cleared he only had an hour until close, so poured a bucket of water over the sick in an attempt to wash it away and began closing down the bar. The last few customers trickled out at this point, saving him from staying open any later than he wanted. At 3:49 he called it a night, doing the bare minimum to call the bar closed (bar wiped, toilets checked, kegs off, lights off) and made his way to the door.
The walk back was nice, well lit and he still had the faint sound of the city going on in his head, and the faint mental image of the blond man who made an arse out of himself but still made him blush. Simon didn’t blush. He was a grown man who paid taxes, not a schoolgirl.
Walking through the park always took him slightly longer than he wanted it to, where the only remaining street light had gone out a year ago. Growing up in Eden, Simon was used to constantly being on edge, and while moving away had relieved some tension, walking through this dark park by himself always made his skin crawl.
Reaching the edge of the park, Simon finally exhaled. His street was very well lit and pretty safe, he’d made very sure of it before moving there. He climbed up the few steps to the dark red door, the last thing between him and his bed.
His key clicked in the lock and he stepped inside, making sure to keep himself very quiet. He put his key in the little dish by the door and kicked off his shoes, leaving the lights off. It was too late to shower so after checking in the room next to his, he brushed his teeth and climbed into bed.
What a strange shift.