Work Text:
You stand in the crowded establishment, a glaringly uncomfortable figure as you awkwardly swirl your drink. Some part of you hopes to god that your surroundings will absorb you, leaving out any possibility of you inevitably toppling your drink or stumbling into another person or imploding from discomfort.
To say the least, clubs aren’t your thing.
As you take in your surroundings, you note that gold accents line the crimson velvet room, that the exit is only 20 feet away, and that you’d probably feel more at ease if you weren’t sweating through your clothes in the muggy air. You force yourself to try to enjoy your time here, especially since Jade had recommended the place and since you know this uncomfortable experience was born only out of good intent.
When your life was taken particularly astride with Casey and her packed schedule (plushie playtime is, in fact, as much an obligation as eating breakfast), your social life diminished near immediately, and Jade hated that. She tugged you away, told you she would babysit Casey for a night, and pushed you to get out of the house to “take a goddamned break once in awhile.” So here you are, attempting your “goddamned” best to have a relaxing time.
A buzz sounds in your pocket, and you stem what feels like relief when you fish out your phone to see Jade’s familiar green text.
Pesterchum: New Message(s)
GG: i’m pretty sure that nobody else’s child would ever be as brutal as yours :(
GG: she just fired me john.
GG: fired me!!!!!!!
GG: i’m her most ambitious and loyal employee! >:(
GG: apparently the world trade of stuffie playtime is one i was never formally introduced to.
EB: plushie*
GG: did you know that the stuffed animal stocks are falling john??
GG: oh shut up you.
GG: casey is very serious about this.
GG: ...
GG: her salamander is wearing a suit.
EB: what?
EB: where’d you get a suit?
GG: don’t respond to these!! i really hope you’re loosening up over there!
EB: what?
GG: hey! what do you think “don’t respond” means? socialize and ease up!
GG: casey and i are having a very serious discussion right now, so it’s best if you don’t interrupt.
GG: find yourself someone to talk to! i’ll see you tomorrow john :D
You roll your eyes to yourself and chuckle at the conversation on your screen, even as homesickness gradually creeps down your throat. The thought of not being with Casey makes your gut twist into a sinking guilt. You’re John Egbert, you’re in a club on a Friday night, and you feel lethargic, homesick, and forlorn.
What a keeper.
You think about what else you’d be doing on a Friday night.
…Fridays were normally reserved for good movies with Casey and bedtimes at 8. Fridays were pints of ice cream with a few scoops left forgotten so you could watch what Rainbow Dash learned about friendship amid her pony adventures. Fridays were reading logs and times tables set aside while your daughter taught you how to do all kinds of braids (“casey, i don’t have enough fingers to do this! are you supposed to use your toes, too?”). Fridays were supposed to be times spent with Casey, and you can feel yourself growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
You pause in your thinking, reflecting on how Jade was exactly right about you. You needed more time outside of the house. Your level of attachment to your daughter isn’t unnatural, but the amount of time you spend out of the house or at work is probably disconcerting - considering how you’re only 27. Most other 27-year-olds would be jumping at a chance to go to a bar and socialize, but you don’t even have friends to celebrate free time with.
Ice cubes lightly clink against the sides of your glass, and the reverberating bass thumps rhythmically against the walls. You yawn and rub at your eyes. While nudging aside your glasses mid-yawn, your thoughts are interrupted to your left.
“Long night? Dude, there’s normally a drink on-the-house for people who get stood up. So just say the words, and you’ve got it.”
With your voice still airy from the yawn, you sarcastically bite back, “You’re supposed to want my service, right? You’re a little pushy for a bartender, man.”
You turn around to see the bartender, and you wipe the ridiculous look on your face when you see him.
The bartender has feathery light, blond hair and a small smirk playing on his face; his hands busied with a damp towel and a glass. His eyes seem to be a dark brown, but you see questionable flecks of red when the lights in the club flash across the bar (you decidedly attribute that to the flashy red decor surrounding you). You take a seat and set your drink on the granite surface before sheepishly smiling, appreciative of some small talk.
“How they’d turn you down man? Didn’t think your baby blues were enough to keep?”
You roll your eyes - he didn’t even answer your sarcasm.
“I was not turned down! Just, recommended to get a drink.”
“You could at least look like you want to be here.”
“Hey! I do want to be here, even if you’re not helping much with that fact.”
“Not my fault I want to banter with the world’s brightest blues, even if he is being a wallflower,” he turns away to put the glass away, and he slings the towel over his shoulder.
“I am not a wallflower. Plus, I’m not sure if I could handle another drink. I do have, uh, people to get back to. I’m just not used to going out.” You look up at the bartender, briefly registering the rest of his physique as he continues.
His fingers appear slender, his body fluid, and his hair effortless. It falls across his face like feathers, a look which would probably take you hours to imitate. But the guy seems friendly, communicable, since he did strike up an easy conversation between the two of you.
“Can’t handle more than one drink. So we’ve got a wallflower and a lightweight.” The joking tone that resonates with each word makes you smile. “But seriously, what brings you to this place, man? It’s a nice choice. I’ll give you that.”
“My friend recommended the place to me, but I assure that I handle my liquor just fine! I just don’t have a designated driver with me right now, and I’ve been pretty busy with work lately” You lie by omission, failing to mention that you have a child that takes up twice the amount of time that work ever does. As much drunken openness as you know bartenders get dealt with, you’re not sure if you want to tell a stranger about you having a kid just yet. Not only that, but accepting another drink would probably result in a return back to your apartment tipsy - which would probably knock your Father Credibility™ down a couple tiers.
“I respect your decision, bro; but if you ever change your mind, drink’s on me.”
Did you see a wink? God, that was subtle.
He moves away briefly to take someone’s order but holds his pointer finger upwards in your direction, signifying he would return to the conversation. He makes his way towards another customer and offers a small smile as he takes up a shaker and prepares a cocktail, afterwards pouring it languidly over a spoon and into the tumbler glass. As he hands the drink over to the customer, you notice his carmine-colored collared shirt slightly creasing near his elbows and jutting out just above his dress pants. His pants gave shape to his hips and legs, though they didn’t hug him too tightly in any respect.
You don’t notice the time passing when you stare.
Nor do you notice that you’re staring.
When he returns in front of you, he catches your eyes raking his figure and, amused, raises an eyebrow. “Dude, if you were really looking for a show, I can recommend another place downtown. This club is light work compared to that shitstorm down the street.”
You feel embarrassment spread to your face, and you can only imagine how quickly your cheeks are reddening. You respond with panic, hopefully stemming whatever assumptions this guy was making, “No! No, no way. I’m not - I mean - I didn’t mean to do that. I wasn’t staring. And hey! Egotistical much? I barely know you; I don’t even know your name, dude! Come on, I mean, I don’t -”
He gives you a blank stare and raised eyebrow as you speak, and his look gradually turns into one of sheer amusement when your words devolve into unintelligible, sad excuses.
“Hey, hey, there’s a lot to take in here; I don’t blame you,” his shit-eating grin subsides only slightly when he realizes just how panicked you are, “Calm down, man. Don’t worry about it; I was totally messin’ with you. I’m Dave.”
You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, and you groan inwardly. This is why Jade gave up on setting you up with people.
Still resigned and embarrassed to hell and back, you respond out of obligation more than enjoyment, “I’m John Egbert.”
“Well, John Egbert, you’re pretty cute. And since clubs aren’t really your thing, why don’t I take you out tonight? My shift’s about finished.”
You’re wary, and you’ve never really, gone out with any guys before. There were some messy run-ins in college, but they were all out of some curiosity, some need to experiment, and some alcohol. If anything, this is for Jade.
Despite your better judgment, you nod. “I’d really like that, yeah.”