The bar is nearly empty, despite it being Valentine's Day. Which makes sense. Mack's isn't exactly the kind of place you go if you're looking to impress someone or hook up. The staticy jukebox in the corner was probably colorful at one time, but years of smoke and neglect have dulled its lights and clogged its workings until it makes even Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and Loretta Lynn's "Cole Miner's Daughter" sound remarkably similar. There's a tiny black and white television hanging on the wall behind the bar, its rabbit ears nearly touching the stained ceiling. The regulars have a bet going on how long it's going to take the fungus growing in the small, dank bathroom to become sentient. And the smell? Well, the less said about the smell, the better.

Still, the beer is decent enough, even if it is a little watered down, and a damn sight cheaper than the place across the street that's blaring techno music so loud that Kevin can hear the thumpa-thumpa-thump of it over Dolly Parton's crackling voice. Okay, he thinks as he takes another sip, it might be Dolly Parton. It's definitely either her or Conway Twitty. Could be Madonna, except that the jukebox predates her.

Kevin drains his beer-it's only his first of the night and he has a pocket full of cash that's just begging to be liquified-and glares at his phone like it insulted his mother. The screen's gone black, but he doesn't need to see the text message to know what it says. His date's stood him up. He sucks in a breath and opens his mouth to rant about that, but the bartender gives him a warning look and pulls a second beer for him. Because Mack's also isn't the kind of place you go to get friendly advice from the staff. So, instead of ranting, he frowns at the huge head of foam on his drink and wraps his hands around the damp glass.

He's halfway through his second drink when someone settles onto the stool next to him. Kevin doesn't punch the guy when he snags his beer and takes gulp of it, but it's a near thing. "Rough night?"

Kevin frowns and props his chin up on his palm, resolutely staring straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Javier motioning to the bartender to bring them both new beers, then tilt his head back and smoothly finish off the drink, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. Javier's got a nice neck, even if it's not all smooth and long and slender. It's strong, just like t he rest of him. Dependable, and there's something to be said for that, Kevin thinks. Which is why he doesn't make a fuss about his stolen beer. That and the fact that Javier's definitely going to be paying for the next couple rounds, if Kevin has anything to say about it.

Javier's looking at him now, an eyebrow arched inquisitively, and Kevin blinks and tears his eyes away from his throat. He's probably not drunk enough for this, he thinks.

"Had better," he says when he finally remembers that Javier asked him a question. There's a bowl of peanuts on the bar in front of them. They're probably toxic, but Kevin pulls them over and starts breaking the shells apart.

"Didn't you have a date tonight?" Javier knows he did, because Kevin told him, so Kevin glares at him a little bit just for asking such an obvious question. Really, it's just embarrassing; the man's supposed to be a detective.

"She canceled," Kevin says, trying to inject all sorts of 'back off' and 'drop it' and 'buy me another drink' subtext into his tone.

"Huh." Javier takes a sip of his drink and starts to brush shell bits off the bar with a soggy coaster. "How'd you manage to scare off a blind date without even meeting her?"

Clearly his subtext needs work, although it's not a complete waste since Javier orders him another drink. "It was probably something my mom said, since she's the one who set us up." There's a pause and Javier gains back a few bro points for not making fun of him for having his mom find dates for him. "She said her parakeet got sick."

After a beat, Javier asks, "Bird flu?"

Kevin snorts in his beer and shakes his head. "I'm trying to mope about Aoibheann here, bro. Don't ruin that for me with your bad jokes. "

"Aoibheann? Who would name their kid that? How do you even spell it?" Javier's staring up at the television, squinting like the answer is somewhere in the fuzzy picture, and Kevin smacks his arm.

"It's an Irish name," he says as he steals Javier's coaster and scrawls the name on it. "It's perfectly respectable."

Javier makes a show of studying the coaster, then tosses it in a small puddle on the bar. "It has more vowels than any name could ever need. That's just showing off."

Kevin snorts again, slumping a little on his stool so that his shoulder bumps Javier's. "I'll make sure she knows you said that."

Javier nudges Kevin's ankle with his toe. "So."

Kevin rolls his head around so that he can look up at Javier-how had his head ended up on his shoulder in the first place?-and arches an eyebrow. "So?"

"Time to get drunk and sing bad country songs?"

Kevin grins so wide his face hurts and pushes himself back up. "Oh God yes."

One Beer Later

"Who do you think will ball up first: Castle or Beckett?"

"How is that even a question?"

"You're right. It'll totally be Beckett."

"You can't tell anyone I told you this."

"Yeah?"

"You know I think Beckett is crazy awesome, but she kind of scares me sometimes."

"...me too."

Two Beers Later

"You've never seen The Godfather."

"I never got around to it."

"You don't just get around to watching The Godfather! It's one of the best movies of all time!"

"Eh."

"That's it. Next weekend, you're coming over and we're watching it."

"Fine, but you have to explain to my mother why I'm not going to the family reunion she's been planning for the past six months."

"It's The Godfather. Trust me, she'll understand."

Three Beers and One Shot Later

"I'm telling you, it's the truth."

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said. I can't believe you actually believe that."

"It's not stupid! Tom Brady was a cast member of The Brady Bunch."

"You're out of your damn mind."

Four Beers and Three Shots Later

"Did you ever see a robin weep when leaves begin to die. That means he's lost the will to live. I'm so lonesome I could cry."

"Bro. That's beautiful, bro. Did you just make that up?"

"I think maybe I did. Maybe I should move to Nashville. Or Texas. Someplace with the, the hats and the boots."

"That's a brilliant plan."

Closing Time

"Where are we going again?" Javier's arm is looped around Kevin's waist and he has his slung around Javier's shoulders, which are just unfairly broad. They're both doing more than a little bit of weaving, but they're managing to pull and push each other in enough of the right way to make a mostly straight line.

"My place," Kevin says, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. He kind of misses the stars sometimes.

"Stars are good, but you can usually find one or two uptown without too much searching," Javier half laughs, his head lolling against Kevin's.

"Bro," Kevin says reverently, nearly falling over when he tries to stop and Javier keeps going. A couple hopping steps and he's caught back up. "Bro, you psychic?"

Javier squints at him, then laughs again. "Nah, you're talking out loud. You're so drunk."

Kevin's pretty sure it isn't fair for Javier to laugh at him when he's drunk too. After all, there are two of him, and sober people don't go all double, so Javier has to be a couple sheets to the wind right now.

"Why are we going to your place?" Plus, his voice is definitely at least a little slurred, Kevin notes.

"Because my couch is red."

Javier squints at him, like that isn't a perfectly valid reason. "What?"

"It's Valentine's Day and my couch is red. So we're going to my festive couch."

"Whatever you say, Kev," Javier says, his hand slipping down to cup the curve of Kevin's ass. Kevin jumps a little and blinks at him. Javier glances between his eyes and his lips, and while Kevin knows he's drunk, he doesn't think he's drunk enough to use it as an excuse for the way he stumbles forward a little bit, pressing their bodies together. A slow grin spreads across Kevin's face and after a moment Javier mirrors it.

"Yeah," he says lowly and curls his hand around Javier's neck, pulling him closer until they're forehead to forehead and nose to nose, their breath fogging the small space between their lips. "Whatever I say. And I say my couch is pretty damn comfortable."

"Still on about that couch?"

"Well, it's closer to the door."

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