Chapter Text
Thursday nights were both Keith’s favorite and least favorite day of the week, depending on who came in to the bar.
He had already wiped down the counters and shelves, removed glasses from the dishwasher and replaced them with the leftover ones that hadn’t made it in the night before, tossing the dishwasher soap square in there as a subconscious afterthought. He’d gone about restocking the bottles of alcohol that were running low or were emptied, making multiple trips back and forth from their expansive storage room and huge fridge that held the refrigerated beverages and premade cocktail drinks.
Now he was sitting with the small of his back against the counter, idly cleaning a glass from a tray that he’d missed before starting the dishwasher, waiting for the dusk rush to come filtering in. They’d opened the bar a little earlier than normal, since The Red Lion Bar & Grill usually only opened their bar at quarter to nine, but tonight was one of the nights they’d booked some musicians to come in and play for the restaurant.
The decently-sized stage tucked into the corner was dressed in soft lights and framed by bulky, black speakers. A vocal microphone laid propped daintily on top of a mic stand, its cord hanging like falling water, twirling its way around the slender, silver rod. The lights were dimmed so that most faces were indiscernible until you were basically nose-to-nose, but the walkways were lit by small lights embedded into the walls, close to where floor met drywall, casting a soft, blue glow over the deep red carpet.
Keith didn’t have to wait long for the place to start filling up, the event having been lightly advertised in the paper and by fliers posted around town, not to mention such events held by The Red Lion were quite popular. People of all sorts made their way to the restaurant - packs of teens laughing loudly, obnoxiously chattering to each other, groups of parents with smaller children who’d wanted a safe night out without having to worry about censoring their children from inappropriate content they wouldn’t understand for another decade anyways, and loners, who were often the ones that made their way to Keith’s bar and asked for anything to take their mind off the fact that they’d sat in an empty seat by themselves.
He was making his third White Russian of the night when a noise caught his attention. Over the buzz that had slowly built up from the muddled conversations that clogged the air around him, he heard a laugh. Not an annoying laugh from a teen on their first night out on their own, or the high-pitched giggling of older women spending time away from their husbands. This laugh rang like a silver bell, cutting through the noise and weaving its way to Keith’s ears like ice water, and he shivered involuntarily. His eyes glanced around, searching for the source, until he heard it renewed and turned his head to finally see the person responsible for such a pleasant sound.
There was a man standing just by the door, the streetlight from outside illuminating his face where he had turned to comment something to who Keith assumed was his friend. He was tall, at least from where Keith was standing, broad shoulders pushed back and bouncing with each laugh that jumped out of a dazzling smile, one hand wrapped around the even broader shoulders of the guy he was laughing with. Even in the low light, Keith could see perfect teeth and crinkles by the corner of eyes, which held irises that seemed to suck in every speck of light around them and shine. It was barely May and the temperature may have warmed up significantly, but it still warranted the use of a rather plain, grey sweatshirt and blue jeans for the guy. And damn did he make basic look good.
There was a hardcover guitar case slung over his back, covered in a variety of stickers that were both new and faded with age. Keith couldn’t make out any of them from where he was standing, even though he squinted and leaned forward a bit subconsciously to fruitlessly get a better look. There was a voice clearing to his left, the opposite direction of the new guy, and Keith jumped back to see the guy he’d been making a drink for tapping his fingers impatiently against the counter with a hard look. The drink was still sitting near-finished where Keith had left it before he’d gotten distracted, so he quickly topped it off and slid it to the guy with a soft apology and a quick bow of his head, which seemed to sate the older man, who shrugged him off.
He didn’t have the chance to look back again because a group of girls had seated themselves at the far end of the bar, calling him over with voices too shrill to be healthy and giggling that was far from cute. Still, they were the easiest to get tips out of, and Keith may not of had a lick of interest in them, but their money was a different story. He still had bills to pay and a cat to feed, after all.
He finished a rather impressive bottle-flipping display and slid their drinks towards them, easily forcing a smile on as he did so, which made them all laugh behind manicured fingers and lotioned palms.
“Working hard, Keith?” A voice to his side said, tone lax and familiar. The dark-haired male turned to see Rolo walking up to the counter from the back entrance, tying his apron behind him and giving Keith a friendly smile.
“I wouldn’t have to be if you showed up on time, Rolo,” He replied, returning the Kahlua under the shelf in one of the mini-fridges that were placed along the underside of the counter.
The other merely laughed, giving him a soft punch in the arm playfully, “C’mon man, cut me some slack. It’s midterm week.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Keith said dismissively, giving the blond a slightly harder punch back, grinning. The other winced, but still smiled. They worked well together, and Rolo may not always be on time, but he was good with customers where Keith was not, able to smooth over disagreements and get the more drunk assholes to turn around and stumble on their merry way.
“Busy tonight?” The other asked, watching the front door open again as another couple came filtering in.
“Eh, same old, same old.” Keith shrugged, pulling the small washcloth he kept in one of his apron’s pockets and giving his hands a quick wipe to get the tacky feeling of over-sweetened alcohol off his skin. “Filled up a little faster since it’s an event night, but other than that it’s been pretty chill.” Rolo made a hum and then was called over to the other end of the bar counter by a pair of college guys. They worked for a while in silence, effortlessly dancing around each other for bottles or glasses, and it was when Keith was reaching up to a taller shelf, too stubborn to get a step stool for something he could get if he just stretched a little more, that he heard it.
“Uh, yeah, hello, testing testing!” A voice came, echoing loudly through the room above the chatter, which dropped a substantial amount in volume at the new voice’s presence. A wide variety of eyes - including Keith’s own when he managed to grab the bottle he needed and drop back to his heels - turned towards its source, landing on the crooked grin that Keith had found himself drawn to when it had been peeled back and pouring out laughter. “How’s everyone doin’ tonight?”
There was a weak cheer that rippled through the crowd, and the man shook his head, tutting into the mic, “Doesn’t sound very convincing to me. I said how’s everyone doing tonight?” The cheer this time was far more boisterous, and that made the man throw back his head and laugh. “Now that’s more like it!” He was sitting on one of the bar stools that had been seated in front of the mic, a pristine Rogue Dreadnought acoustic guitar in his lap and one ankle propped up on his knee to cradle the instrument loosely into his lap. The instrument's intense blue hue reflected off her owner's eyes like sunlight on the rolling waves of the ocean, the soft smile forming on his lips as his eyes glittered in the spotlight acting as the cresting foam. “So now that I’ve got you all amped up and excited, I’m gunna play you all a little something sweet. Better than the wine you’ve got goin’ on with your steaks, I assure you.” A small echo of laughter danced over the room, and Keith found himself shaking his head and smiling before he turned back to the glass he’d gotten out a moment before.
Soft notes, high in octave for a guitar as if they were made for a different instrument, but still gentle as they reached out over the expanse of the restaurant. They were little pricks of sound, tugging on your ear teasingly to get your attention before cradling it with warm fingers. They sounded familiar to Keith, his brow furrowing slightly as he briefly thought of where he’d heard it before. But the notes were sparse before the guy was taking a breath and leaning forward into the mic, lips a hairsbreadth away from the windscreen as they started forming words and breathing melodies.
“What is in this wine? The more I drink the more I wander off into a stranger’s eyes.” The musician’s own fluttered a bit with the words, notes smoothed over with the comforting tone of his voice as he sang. “I like the way that they reflect my thoughts.”
Keith found himself slowing down as he poured the vodka into the glass, recognizing the lyrics from a song on one of his Spotify playlists. A soft song called “Homeless” by Maria Mena. It wasn’t that well known - in fact, Keith had a hard time finding anyone who knew the artist in general, let alone a specific song by her - so this musician knowing it and playing it in the bar Keith worked at, of all places, was more than enough to have him pausing in his work and looking up to watch long fingers flick over thick strings.
“What is in this air? It feels like feathery dust everywhere.” The chatter of the room had dropped to a murmur, most people falling silent completely as the angelic song brought a hush to the restaurant. “As I breath it in, I breath the masculine scent of his skin.”
That caught Keith off guard, and he blinked over at the musician in surprise. Nearly every one before him had changed the pronouns of songs by other artists to keep it straight, but he never missed a beat, singing the lyrics as they were originally written like there wasn’t a thing wrong with that.
As Keith watched, making the simple drink through muscle memory alone, the guitarist continued strumming in a similar manner. His eyes were half-glazed as he sang, as if lost in some old memory paired with the words, the light they'd been holding dimming. But then they seemed to brighten again as he came back to reality, and he looked up just enough to make eye contact with Keith.
And then he winked.
Keith snorted softly and shook his head, chuckling as he went back to mixing the vodka martini he’d paused in making, trying to ignore the flush he could feel drape over his cheeks. He finished stringing green olives on a toothpick before he dropped it into the glass with hardly a splash, and slid it over to the customer who’d ordered it.
“Good voice in this one,” Rolo commented a minute later, wiping down his hands as he came to rest beside Keith.
Keith shrugged as he crossed his arms in front of him, “I suppose. Better than the fuckboi that came in last time we had Open Mic and tried to rap Eminem.”
Rolo winced at the memory, but the taller male saw the smile still clinging to the corners of Keith’s lips, and smiled himself, “You should offer him a drink when he goes on break.”
“Um, how ‘bout no?” The dark-haired male wrinkled his nose at him, gesturing at the musician as he finished his song and switched off to some personalized cover of “Stand By Me”, huffing, “He looks totally full of himself, dude. Not really my type.”
Rolo chuckled, “Sure, man. Whatever you gotta say to make yourself feel better. But if you judge people too quickly before you get to know ‘em, you might be missin’ a great opportunity.”
Before Keith could give a sharp retort, the other was sliding back to the other end of the bar where someone had called him over, shouldering past Keith with a knowing smirk. The other bartender grumbled at his back before his own attention was called over by another group of girls, and he tried not to visibly sigh before he pulled on a smile and walked over. He’d never miss a chance to get more tips.
The music stops after a few more songs, switching over to a new person whose melody is far less appealing to Keith’s ears. He looks up over the bottle he’s pouring into a tall glass, and his eyes flicker over the crowd to find the face that was starting to become clearer in his memory, but he can’t find it. He pouts a bit and finishes the drink, handing it off to the customer who ordered it.
“Hey, ‘scuse me!” Someone calls to his right, and Keith makes his way over while he wipes down his hands.
“Yes, what can I get for you?” He asked without looking up, stuffing the small towel back into one of his apron’s front pockets.
“A smile and a few laughs would be nice,” the person joked casually, and that has Keith looking up, eyes widening marginally when he recognizes the wide smile under shining eyes, now aimed directly at him.
“‘Fraid we’re fresh out,” Keith answered back, using one hand to lean gently on the counter.
“Could you check in the back?” The guy laughed, and Keith can now tell that the clean-cut locks layered over his head are brown.
Keith rolled his eyes, “Only if you order something on the menu, first.”
“Aiight, fair, fair,” the other hummed, and Keith plucked a small list of beverages from a little holder on the back counter and slid it into the brunet's fingers. The other curls the fingers of his other hand and rests his head in his palm, cheek squishing up a bit comically, stretching the small smile still painted over his lips. His eyes light up a bit when he finally sees something he likes, and Keith feels like they not only suck in the light, but also the air around him, his breath catching in his throat. “Ooh! Can I get a mudslide?”
“Comin’ right up,” Keith replied, moving a bit to his left and dipping under the counter to reach for the right glass. He filled it with ice, leaning over to the vodka area of the cabinet, asking over his shoulder, “You got a preference on brand?”
“Nope! Hit me with your best shot!”
“You got it,” he said, reaching over for the already half-drained bottle of Grey Goose, curling his fingers over its slender neck. He grabbed the coffee liqueur and Irish cream liqueur on his way by, sliding everything on the counter and popping the cap to the blender.
Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see the guy had turned to his side and leaned smoothly across the countertop, blinking long lashes at a pretty girl who sat another two seats away. Her friend behind her giggled as the other rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder easily. The cute guy laughed and said something, but Keith couldn’t hear him over the blender. He couldn’t hear her response either, tinted with the little smile she wore. He didn’t want to hear it.
A Mudslide was a very simple drink to make - there wasn’t even that much alcohol in it. He poured the concoction into the glass with practiced ease, added some whipped cream and a sprinkle of chocolate powder for a bit of extra flair - pausing to debate for a moment before he dropped a cherry on top - and slid it over to him.
“There you go.” The tall male turned back at Keith’s voice, giving the girl a wink and a finger pistol, making her and her friend giggle more, but when his eyes landed on the drink, they were wide and excited.
“Holy shit, this looks awesome!” His grin was blinding in the incredible low-light of the bar area, but Keith felt himself flush a bit, anyways. “I don’t have to pay extra for the toppings, do I?”
The dark-haired boy shrugged to himself, “Nah.”
“Oh?” The other asked, cocking a brow at him.
“You already paid for 'em with your singing,” Keith supplied to the unasked question, and before the other could push the topic further, he was called to the other end of the bar, not looking back as he felt the tips of his ears flare with heat. The smirk Rolo tossed him from where he was making a cocktail made Keith flip bottles a little sharper than he usually would have. It got him a hefty tip, all the same.
♡ ♡ ♡
When he finally made it back to his apartment block, Keith was exhausted, but that’s to be expected when he had to bike everywhere. He wished he had the gorgeous, red Ducati he’d been eyeing at the bike shop he passed on his way to work, but instead, he was left with his mountain bicycle. It was a good workout, but that also meant he’d had to start bringing his work clothes in a bag, always carrying deodorant on him. Plus, when he wanted to bring his cat to the pet store with him, he’d have to walk and carry him in his carry case.
Speaking of his cat, when he finally managed to fumble through his keys to find the right one and slipped inside, he heard a series of pert meows from the far room, rapidly growing closer as he closed the door and toed off his work shoes. He only took two steps into the apartment before the big ball of orange fluff made his way around the corner of the doorway to his legs, his loud purring broken only by meows and expectant looks.
Keith chuckled and carefully made his way to his bedroom, the feline weaving his way around his ankles, somehow without tripping him up and meowing all the while. He cracked open the door and they both wandered in, the cat quickly moving to jump up on the bed and turn around to meow now-impatiently at him. Keith pulled off his apron and tossed it over the end of his desk chair, unbuttoning his work shirt and shrugging it off, before doing the same with it and then his pants, leaving him comfortably in his undershirt and boxers.
He sighed, and when he finally let himself flop down on the unmade covers from that morning, his cat immediately crossed the distance and started rubbing over his face, still purring up a storm. His whiskers tickled Keith’s nose, and the pale-skinned male chuckled, wedging a hand between them. But his cat was undeterred, merely continuing to rub his cheeks over Keith’s palm.
“Helios, jeez, you’d think I’d been gone a week instead of a few hours,” He said quietly, dropping his hand back to the bed. Helios crawled onto his chest, turning once before flopping down, rear end towards Keith’s chin and head happily dropped to his paws as he blinked at his owner. Keith shook his head and turned his eyes to the ceiling, lazily tracing patterns in the rough, grainy surface, one hand absently stroking the ball of ginger fur curled on his chest.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” He asked his cat, not looking away from the ceiling for a moment. When he did, he found Helios blinking one, narrow eye at him, as if he were saying “Well, do you?” Keith sighed loudly, drawn out, and used his free hand to reach up and roughly rub over his face.
“Augh, I know, it’s dumb. But there was this guy at work who was just… he was pretty, alright? And he just.. He had this laugh that just sounded like something out of a Disney movie, all silver bells and perfect teeth smile. His voice was something else - he was one of the musicians that came to play tonight. And his eyes, Helios. His. Eyes. Were so blue, okay?” He let his hand rub down his face more softly this time, resting over his chin as his brow furrowed. “I don’t know, Hel. He was pretty but, like, I’m pretty sure he’s straight. He was really only flirting with the girls at the end of the bar during his break, though I kinda got mixed signals when he called me over to order a drink. “ He dropped his hand to the side again, closing his eyes this time as he idly stroked his pet.
The memory of blue eyes, glinting playfully almost like a cat’s, sitting above a cheshire grin was seared into his mind. Smooth, tan skin and soft-looking brown hair that Keith had wanted to run his fingers through, praying they smelled like strawberries or ocean breeze shampoo. His laugh rang in his ears, hours after Keith had left for the night, passing off his shift to another coworker for the rest of the event, clear as a spring river coursing over polished rocks.
He opened his eyes, slowly, and the only smile that met him was the natural curve of his cat’s lips.
“Just… I don’t know man.” He shifted his hand so he was rubbing circles in the space between Helios’s ears, and the feline gave a small mewl of pleasure. Keith chuckled under his breath, “Very helpful.”
He felt gross from sitting in the bar area, where smoking was allowed, the smell of menthol clinging even to his underclothes. But he was comfortable and tired, and he felt like if he moved Helios from his chest, he was breaking some ancient taboo. Still, the tacky feeling of his skin bothered him enough that finally he sighed again, and gently slipped his hands under his cat, cupping him as best he could cup a full-grown Maine Coon in both hands, before getting up and setting him back down in the warm spot Keith’s body had no doubt created.
He gave the cat’s head a few pats, a little scratch behind the ear until his purring started again, and then he was grabbing the towel still sitting on the floor from when he’d last used it, and headed to the bathroom. Maybe some hot water and steam would help clear his head of ocean mist and silver bells he’d probably never see again.