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danadeservesadrink · 4 years

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Do You Believe in Fate Chapter 3

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Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3: Seems Like You Didn’t Fix Your Problem

“Dana Scully speaking”

“Seems like you didn’t fix your problem Dr. Scully.”

“Oh good it’s you.”

“You got another package.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I forgot to save your number. You’ve been calling my mother’s house.”

“Oh.”

“I needed you to call back. So I sent you something.”

“Oh.”

“You can open it if you want.”

“You know you could have just looked me up Scully”

“Didn’t think of that. I’m gonna be in town Friday. I understand if you have plans but I would like to go out with you and…”

“Yes.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. Drinks, dinner, anything you want.”

“Ok. I can meet you at the apartment. Have you been to Fluer’s yet?”

“No never got around to fancy french dining.”

“I’ve been dying to try it. They opened right after I left. 7 sound ok with you?”

“Yea that's perfect.”

“See you then Mulder.”

“See you then Scully.”

She sent him a package. Before she had called he almost gave up on the beautiful Dr. Dana Scully. When she left him two weeks ago all he wanted to do was see her again. He thought about her every second. Hell, he even dreamed about her. She had infiltrated his mind and his soul and she was stuck like glue to every thought he had. He walked past shops and wondered if she would buy anything in them. He wondered what her favorite pizza toppings were. His mind formed a million questions about Dana fucking Scully from whether she liked cats or dogs to whether she had lingerie that matched that navy blue dress of hers.

But then she didn’t call him.

He let the first few days pass, but staring at the phone waiting for it to ring was becoming his social life and the gunmen were getting concerned.

“You don’t even know her Mulder” Langley said on the fourth night. He kept track of days now in nights since he’d seen her. Like ticks on the walls of the pit of his existence without her. “She could be a murderer. Or a spy.”

“She could murder me if she wanted too.” Frohike chimed in.

“Maybe she's a plant, sent to debunk your work.” Byers received a glare for that one.

“Listen, she’s none of that. She’s just a woman, and she’s probably not even interested. She would have called by now if she was” Mulder sulked on their couch, nursing a beer.

“Her loss buddy.”

“Yeah. Her loss.”

When the package showed up on his doorstep he actually laughed. Of course fate would drop an excuse into his lap right as he was moving on. It had been a week and he was just starting to get to the point where he didn’t run to the phone every time it rang praying to a god that it was her, and what he got in return was a choice. He contemplated just leaving the package on the step, pretending he didn’t see it, forcing her to call him and apologize.

But calling her was always going to be what he did. So when he wound up on the phone the second he got off work he really wasn’t surprised.

What did surprise him was the little game she had played. She sent him a package and now he was holding a hand-selected present from Dana Scully herself and an invitation to a fancy french restaurant late Friday night.

The package was addressed in handwriting too. He thought it might be from some distant relative but now that he considers it, it's probably her handwriting. Neat print fit for a doctor. He noticed she put Dr. in front of her name this time and he chuckles.

He rips the tape off and a DVD case drops out. He flips it over and of course it's the Exorcist because Dr. Dana Scully just had to make him fall in love with her even more. There’s a sticky note taped to the front of the case and his smile grew with every word.

Dear Dr. Mulder,

Last time I was in your apartment I noticed this classic missing from your collection. The fact that you have a copy of The Room and not The Exorcist is frankly an insult to film lovers everywhere. If you haven’t called me yet I don’t have your number, and I really would like to speak to you again, if only to improve your taste in film.

Sincerely,

Dr. Scully.

He was going to marry this woman if it killed him.

He might as well rearrange his calendar so that every day but Friday just said “doesn’t matter”, because work could be damned. That morning the hours spent reading through files and papers in his office felt like an eternity, and he found himself practically running out of the office, almost into his bosses secretary who was bent over some cardboard boxes in the middle of the hall.

“Oh Agent Mulder, I didn’t see you there”

“Yea, sorry Katie”

“It’s Kathy”

“Oh. Well goodnight”

He had almost pushed past her when he heard “Agent Mulder” in a voice that sounded more like a bird chirp to him and he would have to explain to his boss why he was so rude the next day if he didn’t so turn around he did.

“What’s up?”

“If you’re not busy, I have some friends who are going to a bar downtown later tonight, I’d love it if you could bump into me again there…” She said the word bump with a little wink and a wiggle in her hips that made her look like a jack-in-the-box.

“I have plans tonight. Sorry Kelly.”

“Kathy”

He didn’t have a chance to see her scowl. He was already out the door.

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“You’re very punctual Scully.”

He’d been practicing lines since 5. He practiced opening the door like a 14 year old boy practices taking off a bra. Hell, he cleaned the apartment for 30 minutes before realizing he did the same thing this morning. But when he opened the door every line and moved he’d ever had flitted out of his mind and she took its place. Navy was apparently her color because she was wearing another creation that looked tailor made for her. This one was more modest than the last one, but that didn’t make it any less alluring. A neckline that dipped down only a little in the middle to tease him, and little sheer cap sleeves that danced over her shoulders. She giggled and he swooned.

“Navy brat. My father always liked to be on time.” He stepped aside and she entered into his apartment and he got to take in the open back of that navy masterpiece. Picking his jaw up off the floor he followed her. She sauntered around the place like she owned it, which technically she did at one point, but it made Mulder feel like maybe it was still hers in some way. Clearly she lived here for a long time, she treated the place with this odd sense of familiarity, but the way she touched the counter-top like it might break told him things didn’t end on good terms. She found her way to the window and he joined her, looking out on the street below.

“I really did love this apartment.”

“Why did you leave? Not that I’m not grateful”

He turned to look at her, expecting another one of her giggles but she stayed staring out into the streetlamp.

“I think that’s really more of a second date kind of story”

“So there will be a second date?”

“We’ll see after this one won’t we.” Her smile was back and so was the sway in her hips as she walked back to the front door. “Come on, we’ll be late for our reservations.”

The 5 minute walk over was mostly Scully saying “Have you been to that restaurant yet?” and Mulder replying “Not yet” because unfortunately for him the gunmen prefer to eat in and he really doesn’t have many other friends. But Scully doesn’t need to know that yet, so he is more than happy to play the uncultured outsider to what is very obviously her city. She seemed to have a story for every place they passed. She was halfway through telling him about the time she almost got hit by a rogue street biker when they arrived at Fluers. A very nice host ushered them to their table and he found himself staring at her over a menu and candlelight.

“So how was your wedding”

“It was good. It was a friend from my old job here, before I moved, so I didn’t know many people”

“I’m sure you were a hit” She blushed again, staring down into her menu.

“I’m not usually much of a ‘hit’ these days…”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She looked up at him then with this gaze that he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was it was gone when the waiter showed up to take their order.

“So what about you Mulder. What do you do for fun these days?”

“Oh you know, run, watch movies, contemplate the enormity of the universe and the meaning of life”

“I thought that degree of yours was in psychology not philosophy”

“I took some classes.”

“I always liked Laërtius personally”

“I’m more of a Plato guy.”

“Of course you are.”

They settled into a silence and he found himself staring into her eyes again. She stared back with a smirk until she broke the gaze with a blush and more giggles. The waiter came back and poured the wine he ordered. He hoped she was giggly when she was tipsy.

“So what did you come to the city for?”

“I work at the hospital in the pediatric center as a cancer specialist. I used to work every day but since I moved back home I haven’t been taking new patients, so I only come back to see them. It’s a lot of commute but it’s worth it. I wouldn’t want to have to quit and force them to find a new doctor.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I do what I can.”

Of course she is some child saving super hero of a woman. He already knew he didn’t deserve a smart and sexy doctor, but this just put it over the edge. He was officially way out of his league. Why she was still sitting here was a miracle in and of itself.

“What do you do with that Oxford education?”

“I work for the FBI.”

“Ah, so you’re Agent Mulder.”

“I think I prefer Doctor better.” He could tell she was trying not to smile. He bet that she loved being the Dr. in her relationships. As much as she tried not to show it she was damn proud of herself.

“Do you profile?”

“I used to. Now I do something a little different.”

“Different how?” Her eyebrow quirked up and he chuckled to himself. Most girls are satisfied with the title of FBI agent. If they’re not, a quick flash of the badge will usually make them swoon. But not Dr. Dana Scully. She is not so easily satisfied.

“I work on cases of the unexplained.”

“Everything has an explanation”

“Of course it does Scully. But sometimes that explanation is not something that comes from the world we know”

“Are you talking about UFOs?” She sat back in her chair, eyes wide, and he leaned in, feeling the heat of the candle on his chin.

“UFO’s, cryptids, anything from crop circles to spontaneous human combustion. If the FBI can’t solve it, they toss it in my pile”

She didn’t say anything to him then, and all the confidence he had in spilling what arguably made him the weirdest human anyone had ever met was slowly fading. She took to staring at the flame in the candle, clearly contemplating how she was going to get out of this date, but then she looked up at him and their eyes met and that look burned brighter than any fire he'd ever seen.

“So have you gone Bigfoot hunting?”

#i hope you all enjoy this #I'm terrible at updating fics on a schedule so enjoy these random updates that I've had in my comuter #I'm getting more time to write now so that's good #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #txf fanfic #The X-Files #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #sam writes

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remcase · 6 years

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Chapter 10

Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.

–William Shakespeare

“Looking sharp, buddy.” Evan complimented as William adjusted the sleeves of his suit jacket. The night of the dance had come upon them quickly and still Noah and William hadn’t spoken. Any time William encouraged himself enough to try, he would knock on the door and receive no response, be caught by Evan on his way, or one of the girls would advise him against it. It was horrible, and dominated his every waking moment. Worry for Noah had become his whole world, so much so that William resolved that if he didn’t see Noah that night at the dance that he would go to his dorm and break down the door. Until then he had a part to play; the part of the charming, friendly date, and best friend.

“Looking pretty damn suave yourself, man.” William smiled, looking at their reflections in their dorm mirror. They both had opted for well-tailored suits and coloured ties to match the girls’ dresses- blue for Grace, red for Brittney. Evan had tamed his usually carefree red hair and William had opted for bracers beneath his suit rather than a belt. They both looked cool, dapper, and handsome. It was definitely an improvement from William’s usual hoodies and Evan’s obnoxious t-shirts.

William tried to imagine how Noah would look in a suit but even conjuring the other boy’s face in his mind filled him with confusion, pain. Ever since he had laid eyes on the drawings even thinking about Noah made it difficult to breathe. He didn’t understand the tightness in his chest, but he was beginning to suspect what the unmoveable feeling, the dragging sensation, the feeling that elated, that excited, that ripped him asunder was….could only be…

No, don’t say it.

Not now.

Not yet.

William looked at his friend in the mirror, calming his hammering heartbeat with a short agitated rub to his chest. Evan, after pulling some exaggerated poses in the mirror and taking one or two photos, checked his watch. “We should probably go pick up the girls. They’re meeting us in the common area.”

Anticipation made William’s heart thrum in his chest. Tonight he would see Noah one way or another. “Let’s go.”

Downstairs in the common area most of the students had gathered in anticipation of making their way to the large dance hall. The sight was a kaleidoscope of colours, with dresses of yellow, red, blue, green, pink, gold…In among the array of dresses and suits William tried to find sight of Noah, but found nothing. It made him nervous, anxious, and he was just about to turn around and charge up to his dorm room when a hand slipped into the crook of his elbow.

Grace looked really pretty. Her hair had been twisted into a low bun at the nape of her neck, a few locks of hair freed to relax the look and frame her face. The blue dress suited her icy pale skin, and contrasted nicely against the delicate silver jewellery she wore. They must have looked like the perfect pair, flawless and blonde.

Beside them, Evan was holding Brittney’s face in his hands, quietly telling her how beautiful she looked. The red dress she was wearing…If Grace looked like a princess, Brittney looked like a queen. Long, deep red, and backless, Brittney and her dress had certainly raised the bar for the other girls in the school. William half-expected Evan to comment on it but his friend, totally smitten, couldn’t keep his eyes off her face, beaming like he was the luckiest person in the world. William, so jealous it near took his breath away, couldn’t look at them for too long, swallowing his anger at himself and at Noah.

“You look handsome.” Grace complimented, patting his arm, and William smiled weakly in thanks. “You too. Blue was a good decision.”

“It brings out the blue in one of your eyes.” She laughed, her eyes flitting from person to person in the crowd that surrounded them. “Everyone looks so different dressed up. Makes me feel really excited.”

William studied them with her, but nobody, not even the boys he may have considered handsome once at a distance, caught his eye. He shot Grace a sly look, knowing that she would understand. “Anybody in particular catch your eye?”

Grace blushed lightly. “No!”

“Yeah, ok, whatever you say.” He teased, glad that if he didn’t have Noah he could at least have Grace. There was no pressure, no expectations. Grace, seeing him scan the crowd again, asked, “What about you, Will? Anybody you’ve been holding out for?”

“Yes.” He answered, and met her eyes. “But I don’t know if it’s going to work out.”

“Why?”

“Because...I don’t know if I’m right for them. They deserve someone far better than me.”

“Shouldn’t you let them decide that?”

“You don’t…it’s…it’s complicated.”

Grace smiled then, a sweet, kind smile. “Why would your relationship be any different to anybody else’s? Two people caring for each other. Doesn’t sound different or complicated to me.”

The words struck him deeply and he wondered if it really could be that simple. Why couldn’t it be? He hadn’t done anything wrong. The way he felt…it was beautiful, painful, awful, wonderful. Why should he hide it? Then, all of the reasons that tormented him, kept him up at night, his fears, insecurities, flooded back to him and he felt the pain they caused him anew. The fear of judgement, of people treating him differently, of people hating him, ostracising him, hurting him…Could he look at the world and see the bad in it and persist anyway? He felt like a child and just wanted to bury himself in bed and cry. If it really was as simple as Grace said, why did he feel so confused?

Around them, all the couples had started moving towards the door. The dance was starting. William cleared his throat and smiled at Grace, forcing all thoughts of Noah and his own fears to the back of his mind. “Come on, enough about me. This evening is about you, Grace. I want to give you the night you deserve.”

The hall the dance was being held in had been decorated elegantly, and soft classical music drifted on the air. After their dinner in the room adjoining the hall, the music would be changed to be more contemporary. After the dance had finished they were all supposed to return to their rooms but likely couples would sneak off in the middle, not to their carefully monitored dorm rooms, but somewhere hidden, a classroom, hallway, or outside. Some people hated it, claimed it was annoying to have to avoid the corridors late at night but William didn’t mind it. Having a first kiss after a dance like that, somewhere dark, secluded, romantic…it was a nice thought.

After pulling out Grace’s seat for her, William sat down and glanced over the menu that had been left on his plate. It was ridiculously fancy for a senior dance but that was the nature of private boarding schools.

Engrossed in the menu as he was, at first he didn’t notice Grace waving beside him. It wasn’t until Evan yelling “little buddy!” excitedly that he looked up, hopeful and desperate.

Noah was standing by the table, looking at Will.

The whole world stilled for what felt like an eternity.

William took him in, equal parts in agony and stunned. Noah was unbelievably handsome in his suit. The black suit was a stark contrast to his pale skin, his dark hair tumbling attractively across his forehead. William felt his heartbeat in his ears, colour rush to his cheeks, electricity down his spine. The paintings Noah had done resurfaced in his mind, reminding him of how those beautiful grey eyes had carefully studied him, not missing a single detail. But, those alluring grey eyes were tired and dull, and though something had sparked deep within them when he looked at Will, they didn’t change their expression. Beneath them there were dark purple smudges, implying many nights of little rest. He looked breakable, frail, like he had lost weight and his voice when he spoke, was quiet, and lacking its usual energy. “I just came to say hello. I’m not staying.”

William stood immediately, his chair dragging loudly across the floor and startling the whole room. They all fell silent, staring at him as what he had done caught up with him and he flushed. Noah, taken aback, glanced around the room, the corners of his lips tugging downward. “There aren’t enough chairs, Will. Don’t make a scene.”

No. No way is this happening.

Anger made him brave, and William, ignoring how everybody watched him, walked over to a table that had a spare chair and forced a grin. “Can I have this?”

The students sitting at the table nodded, confused, and he took the chair, walking purposefully back to the table and putting the chair down in front of Noah. He met the other boy’s eyes head on, his voice low when he said, “Sit.”

Noah’s pale cheeks ignited with colour, his pupils dilating slightly, and the sudden change made William’s heartbeat kick up in response. But, besides a quick glance at the room, Noah made no other response than taking the chair and sitting at the table. It was painfully awkward, both boys ignoring the other, but soon the whole room relaxed once more. The table, on the other hand, did not.

Brittney and Grace did most of the talking, usually about something that Evan didn’t know enough about to talk about but joined in anyway while William and Noah were silent, avoiding meeting each other’s eyes and only occasionally adding a brief comment to the conversation. Any time William heard Noah’s voice it was like the vice grip on his heart tightened, and any time Grace turned to William to say something quietly just for him, usually about someone at another table, the decoration, or even just the food, Noah tensed in his seat, his knuckles turning white as they clenched his cutlery. By the end of the meal, the tension was suffocating enough that it could be cut with a knife, and even Evan grew uncomfortable.

“Will, want to go get the girls some drinks?”

“Sure.”

“You want one, little buddy?”

Noah smiled at Evan, and even though it was tired, William felt a flare of jealousy in his chest. Oh, so he could smile at Evan but not him? “Sure. Thanks Evan.”

At the drinks table in the corner of the room, Evan clapped William’s shoulders. “What has gotten into you?!”

“Nothing.” William responded sullenly, carefully pouring out some punch for Grace into one of the flimsy plastic cups. “It’s just…really hot in here.”

“I know you think I don’t notice things but if you and Noah aren’t talking then why did you ask him to stay? You could have just let him go.”

“Let him go?” William turned on his friend, upset and angry. “I can’t do that.”

Evan, oddly, bit back a smile. “Ok, why not?”

“Because I…”

“You?”

He had no answer.

“Oh, shove off, Evan.” William sighed, picking up the drinks. “Leave it alone, ok?”

Soon after they had all finished their drinks, the students got the cue that they were allowed to enter the dance hall. Inside the lights had been dimmed, and the music had changed from classical to pop. Immediately Brittney grinned, and tugged Evan towards the dancefloor. “Come on, hot stuff.”

Evan threw a wolfish grin back at William. “Don’t wait up tonight for me, Will, yeah?”

William rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile as Evan and Brittney began to dance, twisting, twirling, shimmying, and even doing the robot into the middle of the room, entirely in a world of their own and laughing all the while. The other couples were quick to follow suit, but William found himself watching his friend’s smiling face in the throng of people. He was happy for Evan.

He was jealous.

By his side, Noah watched them too, a small, sad smile on his lips. One part of him urged him to ask him to dance, but his duties were to Grace that night, and he was determined to follow through. Taking her hand, he nodded towards the dancefloor. “Want to dance?”

Grace looked at William, and although he had seen her cast wistful glances at the dancefloor, she shook her head and pulled her hand from his. “No, not now. In fact, I think…I think I might just mingle for a bit. Is that ok, Will?”

Was she doing this on purpose? William cringed slightly, feeling guilty and uncomfortable. “T-that’s fine. Uh…I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”

Grace shook her head, patting his arm, and said firmly, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Will. Remember that.”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd and leaving William and Noah alone at last. He felt her absence sharply, as it highlighted the near cavernous space between him and Noah, but it was softened by his soft longing, and his desire to make amends. William squared his shoulders and braced himself. He turned to Noah, but stopped short.

Noah was gone.

“Noah!” William called out to him, jogging lightly after him in the darkened hallway, before catching his arm and drawing him to a stop. “Stop. Please.”

“What do you want, Will?” Noah said, yanking his arm from William’s grip. His eyes were shiny and there were spots of colour high on his cheeks. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? I don’t want to talk to you.”

William, feeling his own temper rise, glared at him. “I want you to stop acting like a child, Noah. You can’t keep ignoring me. It’s not going to make things any better.”

“Ignoring-?!” Noah repeated incredulously, “That’s pretty rich, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Why didn’t you come to see me?!” Noah demanded, his voice rough, like he was barely holding back tears. “Do I really matter that little to you, Will? I wanted you to come to me. I wanted you to check on me, care about me. I wanted you to ask me to this stupid fucking dance, but you’re so dumb, so afraid-!”

William grabbed Noah’s shoulders, barely stopping himself from shaking him hard. A maelstrom of emotions whirled in his head and he could only feel anger, affection, and desperation. “Is that what you really think?” He cried. “Why didn’t you say, Noah?!”

“I…” Noah clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, refusing to look him in the eye. When he spoke again, he was so quiet that William wouldn’t have heard him if they went the only two in the corridor. “What if you didn’t want to see me? What if I called out to you, and you didn’t come back?”

“Noah,” William said intensely, reaching up and taking Noah’s chin gently in his hand, making him look up at him, meet his eyes, and see the honesty there. “Never think that. Please. Noah… I-”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Will.” Noah’s pushed William away, turning his back on him. “God, don’t pity me or my feelings. Just tell me to go. It’d be easier. But, whatever you do, please don’t drag me along. I can’t…I can’t have you just to lose you.”

Why did it sound like he was talking about so much more than just their small fight? What was he trying to tell him, ask him? William tried reaching out to him again but Noah stepped out of reach, shaking his head, suddenly far more upset than before. “I’m sorry, I never know when to just give up and stop talking…I’ve already said too much…”

William’s head was filled with too much noise. There were too many feelings, too many things being left unspoken and he knew, he knew that if he let Noah walk away that he wouldn’t come back. His whole future, his happiness, who he was hinged upon that second, upon what he was going to do.

No.

Don’t go.

William, don’t let him leave!

“Noah, I love you.”

Noah froze. Turned back to look at him and stared, mouth agape. “What?”

“I love you.” William said again, stronger this time, and when he reached out to take Noah’s hand, the other boy let him take it. The unidentified feeling in his chest that consumed him…it was this. Love. It was everything. “I’ve loved you since I saw you. I love you, your hair, eyes, lips, hands, laugh, voice, soul, your everything.”

“William…”

“I saw your drawings.” William continued, desperate to get out the words that he’d kept locked up for so long. “And I know you love me too, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. But I want you to know, no, need you to know, that it’s not because you’re the only other person in this school who is like me, but it’s because you’re the only person. The only person for me. And it wouldn’t have mattered if you were short, tall, loud, quiet, gay, or straight- Noah, I would have loved you all the same.”

Noah’s hands, which had before been pushing him away, were suddenly pulling him close, clinging to Williams’s shirt. “I love you too. Oh God, I love you too. For so long, William.”

“I want to be with you, Noah.” William said hurriedly, panicking. “But I’m not ready to let everyone know, I’m not ready to tell my parents, I haven’t even kissed anybody-”

“William, relax, it’s ok. It’s alright. We’ll figure it all out together, gorgeous.”

The words of reassurance, so gentle and understanding, made William’s heart kick into overdrive, and Noah, seeing the change in his eyes, feeling Williams hands settle on his waist beneath his suit jacket, let out a harsh, unsteady breath. His hands, clutching the lapels of William’s jacket, pulled him, guided him to a nearby dark alcove. William’s pulse pounded hotly in his ears. There were no more misconceptions now, no more disbelief, he felt his fierce longing for Noah and knew he felt the same.

So this is how you’re supposed to feel. William mused, his hair standing on end as Noah’s back hit the wall and he looked up at him from beneath his long, dark lashes. I want to always feel this way. I’m not going back.

“Will.” Noah whispered, his hands slipping from his lapels to up his chest, his fingers sliding just underneath the cover of his jacket. William’s every nerve was on fire. He felt like somebody else, somebody braver, stronger. Someone who knew what they wanted. His hands came to rest by Noah’s head, enclosing him in the space, enveloping him totally. He wanted to keep him hidden from sight. This moment was theirs alone.

“Is this ok?” William whispered, his head ducking slightly. Noah’s pupils nearly eclipsed the beautiful slate grey of his eyes. His cheeks were flushed. William felt his quick, excited breaths against his lips.

“This is perfect.” Noah said giving the words so much more meaning while his hands finally came to a rest: one firmly in William’s hair, the other on the side of his neck against his fluttering pulse.

“Noah can I kiss you?”

William half expected him to smirk, to grin, to tease, but Noah only nodded, pulling him close with a whispered, “Please.”

They kissed. He felt the first tentative brush of their lips acutely. It was gentle, unsure, and achingly sweet, but it set a fire inside of William that he had never felt before. Everything was hot, beautiful, and he wanted more. He stepped closer to Noah and leaned in further, deepening the kiss. He had thought he would be more nervous, but instinct overrode his nerves and he followed Noah’s lead.

Noah kissed like he flirted. Playfully, passionately, and without regard or hesitation. It consumed William, ruining him for anybody who would ever try to kiss him after him.

Their hands were moving and William’s suit jacket was pushed off his shoulders, the buttons of his shirt released to expose his bare skin beneath, while Noah’s tie was yanked loose so William could kiss the base of his throat and collarbones, as he’d been longing to for weeks.

The sound of Noah’s half-groan was music to his ears, and his answering quick gasp, and gentle tug on his lower lip shattered him and rebuilt him in a heartbeat. His desperate hands pulled Noah’s shirt free and slid hungrily up his back, Noah’s skin velvety soft beneath his overeager hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck…It was euphoric, desperate, loving, hot-

The sound of a slamming door startled them apart and for a moment they were totally frozen, staring at each other as they listened to the sound of footsteps appear and slowly but certainly disappear again. They were alone.

Rationale returned to William slowly as he took in Noah’s dishevelled appearance; the untucked, half opened shirt, the red marks scattered across his collarbones, the grin on his lips, the glint in his eyes. It was too much to handle so he kissed him again, quickly, fiercely. When he finally pulled back, Noah laughed breathlessly. “If I had known that would be so fucking hot I would have kissed you weeks ago.”

William kissed Noah’s cheek, partially because he couldn’t keep away from him, and partially to hide his blush. “We can make up the lost time.”

Noah groaned fully then, closing his eyes tightly. “I didn’t think you’d be so brave? Hot. Rugged. Handsome. Dominant. Oh my god...”

Pride and delight made William’s cheeks flush. “Is that a complaint?”

“No.” Noah laughed and opened his eyes. They were lit with an inner fire, elated. “It’s not.”

William, the reality of their situation returning to him, sighed and buried his face in the crook of Noah’s neck. “What now?”

“Well,” Noah said, his arms came up to hold William comfortingly, “We get a house. Get married. Adopt some kids. Maybe a dog.”

William laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Noah teased, pushing William back so he could see his face. His expression was open and tender and he stroked William’s cheek affectionately. “How about one day at a time? We can figure it all out tomorrow, Will, but for now I just want you, like this, with me. Is that ok?”

“Just us?” William said hopefully.

“Only us.” Noah assured him.

His heart would give in. He couldn’t take it. Taking Noah’s hands in his, he laced their fingers together and held on tightly. His words were both a prayer and a promise. “Only us.”

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[RF] Tom the Bartender (4 stories in 1)

Tom was alone for the time being. They gave him a key two weeks ago and, gradually, he started coming in earlier and earlier. He was a restless soul. He needed things to do and, behind a bar, there’s always something to do.

Service wouldn’t start for an hour and a half, so Tom had plenty of time to settle in. He needed to juice citrus. He needed to restock the low boy with beer, white wine and rose. He needed to refill the backstock for the rail. He needed… a cup of coffee… yeah. He needed that.

The morning brew was a beautiful ritual. Grind the beans. Push the button. Walk the hell away. Do everything else as fast as possible cause that pot of coffee will be ready in 5 - count ‘em! - 5 minutes. Tom hustled to the radio. He cranked up something good. Something with rhythm and depth. Something to bring his mind to life and get his body going. Something real fucking good.

He didn’t dance, but there was rhythm to his movements. He kept with the beat. Sometimes, for a verse or two, he’d even sing. Most of the time, he was too busy making everything sparkle and shine. It was a beautiful bar, but it could be a mess in a flash. He had to maintain the space. All his cocktailing instruments were aligned for efficiency and a subtle touch of presentation. Everything was in arm’s reach. Everything was fresh. Everything was clean… well, not quite, but Tom would take care of it.

He was never mad about the close. More work for him meant less time to sit and stew with nothing to do. Call him a busy body. Call him crazy. Tom just knows what keeps him at ease. Puts his mind at peace. Routine. Cleanliness. Order. Coffee.

5 minutes.

It was a locally roasted blend. It tasted like coffee. The caffeine was the heart of the matter. Tom had been down the coffee snob road. He could taste those subtle notes, the delicate floral and citrus hints in a light Ethiopian single origin coffee and the harsh, burnt, oily flavor of a fuckin’ French Roast. This cup tasted somewhere in the middle, so it was damn perfect.

Restocking took a little time. Must’ve been a busy night. Juicing took as long as it always takes. Plenty of juice, but, really, just enough. They’re big on not wasting anything around these parts, but, at the same time, citrus is citrus is citrus. If you get it, you get it. Some sweeping was required. Some tables needed to be reset. Some other shit was left from the night before. It’s whatever, Tom will take care of it. There’s plenty of time.

He doesn’t sleep much, that Tom. He gets enough sleep, to be sure, but it's sporadic, inconsistent, restless. He’s used to it, but everyone tells him it’s unhealthy. He fills his days with as many shifts as possible… until he burns out and takes some time off. “Time off” in his mind is an extra day off now and again... or maybe just not working a double. Whatever he can get, really. Such is life. This is adulthood. This is having a career. This is working with what he has.

Bartending, hospitality in general, is an inherently love/hate relationship. Tom loves what he does. He loves doing it. He, sometimes, hates who he does it for. Some people are just the worst. It’s true. When the pay is dependent on the kindness of strangers, there’s a sense of trepidation that comes with every interaction. “What if this person is a greedy miser who is going to basically use me for my services and then not compensate accordingly? What if this asshole is cheap?!” It is what it is, though, and most bartenders, most good bartenders, hope for the best, treat each guest equally, and are often tipped as such. Tom is a pretty good bartender. He’s comfortable there.

It’s too cold for outdoor seating, so Tom is leaving the tables locked up and the chairs stacked. The lights are on, the sign is out, the chef is prepped, the day has begun. Now. Now we wait.

There’s a small lunch rush. A handful of tables. A couple at the bar. A woman on her lunch break with a laptop who is in a hurry but wants two martinis, back-to-back, start the second as soon as you’re done making the first, thankyouverymuch. The favorite customer of lunch sat at the end of the bar, headphones in, watching a game on his phone. He had a guinness. He had a sandwich. He had some whiskey. He finished with a good cocktail. He didn’t say much, but his words had meaning behind them. He was present. He enjoyed everything he had. He left a 15 dollar tip. Hell yeah. “Come back anytime, my friend.” Tom smiled.

There was a helluva lull before dinner, and Tom was alone all day. The bottles whispered behind his back. Taste. Taste. Taste. He didn’t need to, though. He knew what they tasted like. He’d had them all before. Just another voice in his head. Another thing to ignore. To pretend wasn’t there.

Dinner was abysmal and the late night crowd was atrocious. They tipped well enough, but they ordered food at the very last second and wanted all cocktails all night long. All in all, not a great day, but it balanced out financially. Tom was tired, a few steps from exhausted, but he still had work to do.

He blew out the candles. He turned off a few lights and set to his closing tasks. He swept. He mopped. He counted down the drawer. He logged his tips. He collected his things. He poured himself a well deserved shot and popped open a beer. It was a long day… but, hey, could be worse, right?

It was getting close to the end of Tom’s shift when Jess walked in. He saw her milling around outside, pondering entering. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if the place is even open. She pieced it together eventually and made her way in, crossing the space and taking a seat at the bar.

“Welcome. Hi.” Tom said genially, but with a tinge of ‘I’m getting out of here soon’ on the back burner.

Jess smiled. A good smile. One of the best Tom had ever seen. “Hi!” Jess said, reaching for the menu Tom was passing to her. “How are you?”

“No complaints. Quiet, relaxing day. I’ll be wrapping up my shift soon. How are you?” Tom replied.

“Thirsty…” Jess mused, flipping through the menu.

Tom grinned. “I have the cure.” He presented her with a glass of water. “What are you in the mood for, apart from water?”

Jess put her fist to her chin and rested upon the bar. “Ya know, I’m usually in the mood for a cocktail, but I don’t want to be that complicated right now.”

This girl… Tom thought to himself. “Cocktails don’t have to be complicated, and I’m bored enough to actually want to make one. What’s your favorite base spirit?”

“Gin.”

“Cool. Gimlet, Tom Collins or Martini?”

“I know two out of three of those.”

“Which don’t you know?”

“I’ve heard of a Tom Collins, but I can’t remember what it is.”

“Gin, lemon, simple syrup, topped with club.”

“Mmm, that. Please.”

“You got it.”

Business hasn’t been great so Tom has been juicing to order. The gin was rail, the juice was fresh, the club soda is a fancy brand, and he prepped the syrup himself. A simple classic made with love and care, that’s what Tom was all about. He shook the gin, juice, and syrup with ice and strained into a Collins glass with four nice, sizable, clear ice cubes. He slowly topped the beverage with club soda, gave it one quick stir and slid it Jess’ way. She took a delicate sip and smiled. Dimples appeared and then subsided. Tom… didn’t know what to think.

“That’s so refreshing.” Jess exclaimed.

Tom started to clean his shaker and tools. “I’m glad. Now that you have a drink, how’s your day?”

“It’s pretty good. I’m not doing much of anything today. Just waiting. Killing time. Drinking, apparently.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Tom reassured her, “I’d be where you’re sitting if I had the day off. What are you waiting for?”

“My boyfriend.” Jess smiled to herself and quickly sipped her drink.

Naturally. Tom thought to himself. “Gotcha.” He spoke.

“So.” Jess straightened her back and folded her hands on the bar. She stared at Tom. Through him.

“So?” Tom replied, raising his eyebrows and meeting her gaze with all the confidence of a bartender who was safely and comfortably secure behind their bar.

“So tell me something. I don’t know.” Jess shrugged. “It’s just you and me here. We might as well talk.”

“Ah, I see.” Tom pondered. “Well. Ok. My name is Tom.”

“Jess.”

“There. I’ve told you something.”

Jess did not smile. No dimples for that one. “No, tell me something interesting. Like… entertain me.”

“Ha!” Tom laughed. “That’s how it is? Want me to sing and dance?”

That brought the dimples back. Jess perked up and clapped her hands. “Can you sing and dance?!”

“I mean, I know how to, but I’m not going to right now.”

“Damn. Why not?”

“Because… I’m on the clock?”

“So?”

“I don’t get paid to sing and dance. I get paid to make drinks.”

“I’ll pay you to sing and dance.” Jess gave a devilish smirk. The kind of smile that speaks leagues of the person beneath.

“You couldn’t afford it.” Tom crossed his arms.

“Oh really? Well, you can’t blame a gal for trying.” Jess took another sip. “That’s so good! So you make good drinks and you can sing and dance. Tell me something else.”

“I hate talking about myself.” Tom admitted.

“Too bad. You are my captive. Tell me everything.” Jess leaned forward, eager for Tom to expound upon himself.

Tom shrugged. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Says you.”

Tom smiled wide. “Very well. Hello, bonjour, hi. I’m Tom. I’m a bartender who wants to do something else. I’ve had an exciting life full of adventures and experiences, but, the way things have been going, that’s all behind me. I just bartend. All day. Most days. I like people and love talking to my guests when it’s slow, but I hate crowds and can’t stand when it’s busy. My home life is dull. My cat is an asshole. My car needs repairs. I’m tired. How’s that?”

“You have a cat?”

“Yes.” Tom sighed. “He’s the worst.”

“How so?”

“He doesn’t know how to show affection and claws at all me all day. But he sleeps under the covers at night. That’s pretty cute.”

“That’s adorable. Yeah, some cats are terrible. Not mine, though. She’s a sweetheart.”

“That must be nice.” Tom was bemused. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like. He’s the only cat I’ve ever had.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He did when I adopted him, but I just call him ‘You Motherfucker’ these days.”

Jess laughed. “I can’t tell if that’s a joke.”

Tom smiled. “It’s the truth, but it’s a funny truth.”

“How long have you had your little Motherfucker.”

“Two years, which is two years too long.”

“Aw, poor guy. Do you really hate him?”

“Nope. I love him, but he’s very bad for me.” Tom lifted his pants leg to reveal fresh scratches and scars. “See?”

“Oh no.” Jess was shocked. “Why do you still have him if it’s that bad?”

“No one wants him.” Tom admitted. “I barely do, but the other option is… yeah. I’m stuck with the little bastard.”

“Geez… ok. Different topic. How long have you been bartending?”

“Years. Getting close to 5 years.”

“Oh wow. That’s a career.”

“Yes, I am a career bartender.”

“But you said you don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Yes, correct. I am a career bartender.”

“Ah. I get it.” Jess looked around the space. “This bar is beautiful. It’s, like, really cool.”

“I’m glad you think so. I spend a lot of time here.” Tom glanced around the space that he inhabited most of the time. It wasn’t super fancy and it wasn’t a shithole. It was a step above some other spots in the area, just enough of a concept to be different but still a welcoming, comfortable bar. Tom loved it, but…

“Is it yours?” Jess woke him from his ponderings.

“Nah. I’m a cog in the machine.”

Jess looked at Tom funny. “What machine? You’re the only person here.”

“Fair. I do work alone most of the time.”

“So you are the machine.”

Tom looked off into the distance, confidently. “I suppose I am.”

Jess drained the last of her Tom Collins and placed the glass on the bar. There was a moment. A pause. She was contemplating if she wanted another. Not another Tom Collins, another drink in general. She did. She really wanted another drink. She wanted to stay. Tom wanted her to stay, too. Neither of them needed to say it, either, but Tom is a bartender at work and there’s an empty glass, so he’s naturally going to break the silence.

“Another beverage?”

“I think I should go.” Jess admitted.

Tom smiled. “What happened to waiting for your boyfriend?”

“He’s on his way. He doesn’t really drink, so…”

“I gotcha.” Tom slid over to the register, rang in a rail gin, and presented the check to Jess. “Well, thank you for coming in. It was nice to meet you. Good way to wrap up my shift.”

“No, thank you. This was a perfect little respite.” Jess dropped $15 on the bar. “That’s all you.”

Jess gathered her things and made her way to the door. Tom began the lonely task of cleaning up after her. He kept his head down, so he didn’t see her look back as she exited. It didn’t matter, either way, she wasn’t there for him. She needed a drink. That’s why she went in. That’s all.

It was getting late, there were a few patrons nursing libations, and Tom was starting to close down the bar. He had a good hour before he could think about hustling his guests toward the door, but there were social cues he could use to send a clear message.

Step one was a change in atmosphere. Tom turned on some old, sad country music to bring the night down. Familiar tunes that spoke to the soul if you let them. A couple at the bar took notice as one of them started to nod and hum along with the first song. There was a man sipping a beer toward the end of the bar. He came in often, spoke rarely, and tipped accordingly.

“Who picks the music here?” The man spoke up.

“Yours truly.” Tom smiled.

“What’s with the country?” He pressed.

Tom was slightly taken aback. “I like it. I don’t know what else to tell ya.” Tom grabbed a pitcher and moved to refill glasses and check in on tables.

“I mean, it’s ok. It’s not bad country. It’s just different. I wasn’t really expecting it.” The man talked after Tom as he passed from table to table, refilling water glasses and checking if anyone needed anything. One manhattan on the rocks for table 12, seat 2. Everyone else was sitting comfortable.

Tom grabbed a rocks glass, tossed in a few cubes, and topped the ice with a luxardo cherry. He stirred the rye whiskey, vermouth and bitters concoction for a little less than usual. He wanted to leave time for the ice in the glass to melt without it watering down the drink too much. It was a boozy beverage made with a bold, high proof rye. The vermouth was subtle and the bitters added a little extra depth and character. It was good. Ready to be served.

“What’s that?” The gentleman at the bar asked.

“A manhattan on the rocks.” Tom answered as he delivered the drink.

“Can I have a manhattan, but up?” The man finished his beer.

“Of course.” Tom cleaned his utensils quickly and set to the task of repeating every step he just did, but in a different order and with a different time table. Ice in the coup glass to chill it. Stir the ingredients for longer, but not too long! Dump the ice in the glass. Pour the cocktail. Drop a cherry in at the end. Serve. The man sipped.

“It’s good.” He stated. “Now, seriously, what’s with this sad cowboy music?”

Tom, safe and sound behind his bar with the knowledge that at least one more person in the space was feeling the music, decided to push back. “Well, I like it.” He instinctively went to cross his arms, but stopped himself. “I usually crank up something that I like at the end of the night.”

“End of the night?” The man checked his watch. “It’s only 9:10.”

“Yes.” Tom stood firm. “We’ve reached the final hour.”

“You close at 10:00?”

“Yes, indeed.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “I know that I’ve been here later than that.”

“It must’ve been a friday or saturday. We stay open til midnight.”

“Huh.” The man sipped his drink. “I guess.”

Tom stepped over to his clean glassware and took to the long, arduous, mechanical, mindless, instinctual, habitual and all around compulsive act of polishing glassware. He smiled at the couple that were enjoying the country music. “Sitting tight, my friends?” He asked them.

“Everything is perfect. I never get to hear this music when I’m out.” The middle aged man said.

“You’re feeling it?” Tom grinned.

“He loves this stuff.” His apparent wife (rings on fingers, talk of kids at home, it was a safe assumption) spoke up. “I’m not a big fan, but I do love how goofy he gets when he hears his old country.”

“Some of these songs… can be silly.” Tom admitted.

“Some can be downright offensive.” The woman stated.

“Too true, but I think I’ve managed to filter out most of the bad ones from this playlist.” Tom said with pride.

“Hell yeah,” the man smiled. “Good for you.”

“I do what I can.” Tom nodded and took a break from polishing to check on the tables. Table 12 was thoroughly enjoying their manhattan and was ready for their check. Table 31 was also ready for their check, and table 20 sheepishly asked for another round, which Tom was more than happy to oblige. He was starting to lag and, in his mind, longed for closing, but two quick pours of wine weren’t going to make his life any worse.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. From the bar to the table to the register to the table to the server’s station to the table to the bar. There’s a pattern, an order, to everything. Efficiency is key. Every movement, every moment has a purpose. Atleast, that’s what Tom tells himself.

“I’ll take my check,” the lonely soul at the bar broke Tom from his rhythmic movements, “since you’re trying to close up.”

Tom let the accusatory statement go, printed out the man’s check, and presented it with all the warmth of a brick wall. “Whenever you are ready, my friend.” Tom said reflexively.

The night wound down comfortably. By 10:00pm, Tom was alone. He cranked the music, but kept the somber country tunes rolling. It was a sunday and he didn’t work the next day, so Tom took his time closing. He stirred up a potent libation to sip as he went about his closing duties. He counted the money before his mind started to swim from exhaustion and booze in an empty stomach. Every other step of closing was mindless.

When he had checked everything off the checklist on the wall and the checklist in his mind, Tom, satisfied, grabbed his cash tips and made his way to the alarm. He punched in his number, turned off the lights, and stepped outside. It wasn’t cold but it wasn’t warm. He was holding his jacket. He tried to remember where he parked in the morning. It all seemed so long ago…

He turned his key. His key. He loved having a key. He really did.

He wandered around, debating popping into a late night spot, but ultimately found his way back to his car. It was a long walk, and he needed it. Time to reset. A good jaunt to re-establish his identity after another day of playing the game for a wage. Another good night’s rest on the way.

It was cold. Damn near frigid. Tom was always behind the weather, never with the right jacket or number of layers. The wind picked up as he skipped up the curb. The sun wasn’t up yet. He parked a few blocks away so he could get a few extra steps in. As if he didn’t walk enough. He tells himself he’s not neurotic. He tells himself a lot of things. It was going to be a long day. He’s trying not to think about it.

There was an event in the morning and normal service at night. They were a little understaffed, so Tom was on for the whole day. He didn’t have to close, but he didn’t sleep well and events can be hit or miss. Sometimes they’re way more work than they’re worth. Sometimes they’re a cakewalk. Tom had a low ABV punch to prep and had to juice oranges, then he was in charge of coffee and tea. The event started at 10:30. It was small compared to what Tom grew up doing, but, again, they were a little understaffed.

Jenna, the events manager, was printing out labels in the office. Other people slowly showed up, groggy and uncomfortable with this hour of the day. One lead bartender. One lead server. One barback. Jenna. Two in the kitchen. Tom. Point him in a direction and tell him what to do and it gets done. Everyone else had their assignments. Tom preps, builds, floats, assists and breaks down. He smiles. He gets the damn event over with.

Events were a cerebral experience for Tom. He grew up catering. His summers were spent feeding kids around his age at summer camps. His weekends were focused on 8 to 10 hours from beginning to end, the rest was unimportant teenage screwing around. When there was a job to do, it had to get done. People to be fed. Good times to be had by all. Money to be made. When it was time for an event, he turned down the volume in his mind and went on auto pilot. Jenna was his captain. He needed to follow directions.

Still, Tom couldn’t get his mind off the evening’s service. They were going to have to rush breaking down the event and prep for the night. It was going to be tight, and the tighter it got, the later he’d have to stay to back up the night crew. His mind was on the lunch service downstairs, too. He’d been running Saturdays for a few weeks now and they’ve steadily grown in popularity. Business was getting good. Finally. He needed his lunch coverage to crush service and prep for the night. He needed a cup of coffee, too.

All was moving steadily. Some people were dragging in the early morning light, others had a newfound energy. Most of them hadn’t been up this early in years, and it was working in their favor today. Tom, used to the early morning grind and a general lack of sleep, warned everyone not to burn out too early. There would be a pop at the beginning for the bar, the buffet would be frantic and madness for a few minutes at a time and the bar would be overwhelmed at last call. Tom was wrapping up his initial duties so he could start assisting with the rest of set up.

Up stairs and down stairs. Extra chairs. Chafing dishes. Cambros. Tea bags, mugs and sweeteners. A desperate, frantic hunt for clean tablecloths. A haphazard, taping together of smaller table clothes to make the buffet table look presentable. They always made it work, despite the hindrances that existed. The space wasn’t designed for events, but it was relatively adaptable and this wasn’t the team’s first rodeo.

Once guests arrived and the event was underway, a general sigh of relief was exhumed by all on staff. Less guests than had been projected. No mother-in-laws present to hastle the staff. It wasn’t a young crowd, nor was it a group of old folks. Right in the middle. Some guests tried to order off menu from the bar, as usual, but the lead bartender had built the minimal menu herself and wasn’t about to stray from the selection. Tom stood to the side, pouring mimosas and beers. He wasn’t on cocktails, which was nice.

The food went out and disappeared quick enough. More food replaced it, and a good thing, too. A few late comers arrived hungry. For noon on a Saturday, the crowd did come thirsty. Tom spent more time behind the bar than expected, but nothing was difficult. He was wondering when that would fall through.

They ran out of coffee an hour and a half before the event was slated to end, so Tom rushed downstairs to brew a fresh pot. Anthony was in the downstairs bar, hustling. There were outside tables, a practically full bar and a few couples smattered around the dining room. There was a familiar, frantic and wild look to Anthony. Tom saw it from a distance, before Anthony realized he had come down from the event.

“I’ll hop on in a second.” Tom broke Anthony’s anxious concentration and his eyes flashed with rage, confusion and then palpable relief. Anthony was weeded. He was making cocktails as fast as he could. He was still prepping for the day. He didn’t have a bus bin. Tom opened in his eyes wide and took in all he could as he prepped the coffee. He made a quick list.

“Holy shit. Thank you.” Anthony spoke, exacerbated. Tom started the coffee and spent the next five minutes refilling waters, taking orders and assisting as well as he could. The bar was Anthony’s, there was no way to assist with that, but he touched all the tables, took some food orders, poured some beers and left a few cocktail tickets on the counter for Anthony. Tom only had so much time before he had to get back upstairs.

When the coffee was ready, Tom promised he would be back down as soon as he could be and bolted upstairs. He resituated the coffee station and checked in with everyone. The event was winding down. Guests were leaving early. The bar was still steadily moving but most dishes were cleared and the buffet was ready to be broken down. Tom started the break down, Jenna came to assist, and the barback walked up and asked if there was anything he should focus on. This was Tom’s chance.

“Anthony is getting destroyed downstairs. How badly do you need me at this point?” Tom asked directly. He didn’t like being in charge, but he knew how to take charge when necessary. Jenna released Tom from the buffet and told him to check in at the end of the event. Tom flew back downstairs and he and Anthony tag-teamed service for 45 minutes. The outside tables left. The inside tables closed out. The bar started to empty. Everything right on time.

It’s safe to say at this point in the day that Tom needed a change of clothes. He had 30 minutes before his downstairs shift technically started, but there was enough of a lull between afternoon and evening service that he would probably get a break. Probably. He trekked back upstairs. A few guests were making their exits. Tom squeezed by apologetically and returned to the floor. There wasn’t much to breakdown, just a lot to be resituated. Less of a work out than the morning, but still a bit of cardio, a bit of heavy lifting and a lot of frantic energy burning away at every little calorie from his meager breakfast.

There was a tray of leftover food in the office that everyone had picked at. Tom jammed some french toast in his month and got back to work. The evening crew was starting to show up and assisting with set up for the night’s service. Tom was graciously relieved of his duties. Those who didn’t have to work anymore shared a round. Tom was gifted a shot and he threw it back before heading downstairs.

Anthony was wrapping up the paperwork from the day shift and Eric was taking over the bar. Tom asked if he could run to his car, change, and maybe take some time. Eric laughed “You take all the time you need.” He changed his shirt, added a tie, and checked to see how exhausted he looked. Pretty exhausted, but he could fake it. It was going on 4:30pm and Anthony should’ve been relieved half an hour ago. Anthony didn’t mind working extra and had insisted Tom take his time, too. Alice would be arriving around 5:00pm. Everything was fine.

So Tom checked in downstairs then went for a walk. A quick escape. Fresh air. Time to breathe…

The neighborhood was alive. It was brisk but pleasant outside and people were coming out from the city, in from the county. A line started to form for upstairs. Downstairs wouldn’t be busy until later in the evening. Tom walked for a good 20 minutes. Frantic energy keeping his steps steady. He was cooling down. Relaxing. Rolling his shoulders and reaching for the sky. The tension of the day was starting to subside… making way for the tension of the night.

Alice had arrived when Tom came back to the bar. There were a few guests sipping drinks, but most everyone had been waiting for upstairs. That was fine with Tom. He was hoping for a passably easy night. Time would tell.

Eric was taking care of the bar and in charge of cocktails. Alice was running most of the inside tables. Tom picked up the outside tables as the large groups started to arrive. Tom apologetically informed his new guests that Happy Hour was not offered on Saturdays. A part of Tom wanted the guests to be so perturbed that they left. The other part of him wanted everyone to order as much food and drink as possible so he could actually make some money this week. It’s a balancing act, being exhausted and being an attentive and charismatic host.

The temperature dropped with the sun and the outside tables cleared. Tom was happy to be back inside, mostly assisting where needed. It was around 9:15 that Eric started to disappear and reappear for minutes at a time. Tom knew exactly what Eric was doing and Tom’s heart started to flutter. Tom was finishing up a round of cocktails for a table when Eric snuck up behind him and said the magic words.

“You trying to get out of here?”

Tom smiled. Eric had been eating his dinner on the sly. 30 minutes early. It was a small victory. Tom checked in with Alice and gave her an update on the tables he’d assisted with. They all toasted to the evening and Tom ducked out before anything crazy could happen.

As Tom made his way home, he reflected. It wasn’t bad, the day, but it was a lot. Did he feel like he accomplished something? Sure. Did he feel like he had achieved something? Maybe, when he gets his paycheck, he will. Did he feel like he needed to go to bed? Yes. Hell yes.

So he did. He had to open the next day, after all.

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