Idol Warning: Alcohol, but they are of age and language. Not much included in this chapter.
It was a quiet night at the bar.
Not exactly the decibels that could be heard at a library, but seeing a small group of decent looking people laughing jovially at one another was a stark contrast to the typical sight of the huge and not to mention rowdy crowds of people that stuffed themselves into the crowded room to fester away like people tend to do at bars. You inhaled sharply, letting the cold night air fill your lungs as you discreetly attempt to walk to your usual seat at the bar counter.
That's right. You were a usual at this bar.
You groaned and slumped into the barstool and thud your elbows onto the smooth surface of the counter allowing your chin to fall into your hands. It was kind of one fluid motion. Out of the corner of your eyes, you cast disapproving glances at the small group wishing that they would just leave. Their enthusiastic giggles in between their breathy make out sessions rang like sirens in your eardrums. You cursed their stupid voices that were wrecking your mood even further. Hell, for you were other people.
You really wanted to be alone.
It seems that the only presence you could tolerate at that instance was that of the bartender. She flashed you a tired grin and walked over. You returned the favor and cast your gaze to flickering light above your head. You hadn't made plans to stay late. One drink was all. Just one drink to make you temporarily forget everything. Now it seems that the world was telling you to get out sooner because that light was really starting to piss you off. You just couldn't help being irritable today.
"Rough day?" The bartender asks. She looks exhausted just like you. You had seen her before, but she had never actually talked to you until today. You wondered why, but couldn't develop a reasonable answer.
"Can I get you something?"
Bartenders kind of have to talk to you, don't they?
Your answer just hit you in the face. Your own stupidity flustered you to no end at times, but you wouldn't let that eat at you right now.
You stared back at the lady in front of you. Her glossy blonde hair bobbed at her shoulders while her sky blue round eyes blinked back, reflecting your own blank expression. Her hands waved swiftly over her uniform to drag out the crinkles. She seemed interesting, like the kind of interesting that inspired a top charting tune or a poem with deep emotional value. You concluded that you needed to get her name and had the circumstances been different, you may have even gotten her number and taken her out a time or two.
"Yeah, please." She snaps you out of your trance. You wouldn't be getting her name today. Too bad. Your mouth opens to tell her what to get you and what you want, but as she swivels her hips back around to face you, you sigh. Exactly what was wanted.
It reminds you of how in the movies when the main protagonist asks for a drink they just say, "Can I get a drink?" And the bartender nods and comes back with whatever the hell he feels like giving them. You personally feel like its scotch (or something of that nature), so therefore you always directly specify for one yourself.
You take a sip and swallow, savoring the flavor. As the liquid slides smoothly down your throat you concur that it's cheaper in quality, but not necessarily flavor. Not much could be said about it. You turn off your taste buds every time you have a drink. It had become a habit as of recently. You didn't even know if you liked this drink very much. It was kind of your default option like the water droplet background that took residence on your phone's home screen. Complicating your life with unneeded details was uncool and not to mention stress that was unwanted entirely.
It was the little things that got to you.
After all you were a cool guy. Where did that get you though? All of the best people surrounded you, fawning over your very existence and even the blood that coursed through your ungrateful veins. You had the nicest car that you regularly crashed or dented in your carelessness. You had a house straight out of a magazine that you used to throw parties that ended in bad hangovers mixed with smashed vases that you replaced on a regular basis. Oh, you also had money too. Lots of it. If you had everything, why were you here? Why did your lungs burn at the mention of another concert also known as your one call to everything you owned? Why did it feel like little hands were wringing out your stomach until you were doubled over afraid that your one hundred dollar lunch would wind up on your even more expensive shoes? Saying that you had stage fright wasn't an option. You had been performing for years. You had no clue why this was happening. The more you denied the concerts and cancelled enviable gigs that most would salivate over, the more you realized that they would find out sooner or later. Whatever it was they were going to find out... You had no idea yourself really.
Another sip passed through your parted lips. As the liquor settled in, it burnt in your chest. The kind of burning that melted your worries away. You rejoiced in every luxurious second of it. You were selfish to even be here, but it just felt too good to be away from your own life. Being an Evans was hard work after all.
Was this really all there was? Cancelled shows and depressing bars? You shook your head, finishing off your drink. You asked way too many questions. There wasn't any time to ponder your question, damn it. You really wanted to know the answer to this one too, but you needed to pack up and head out before someone noticed your absence.
"That's life." You mutter unsatisfactorily and run your pianist fingers though your hair, messing it up an appropriate amount.
"Um," a smallish sounding voice chirps. "Did you say something?" You turn your head to identify the unknown questioner. Before you have the chance to respond, the girl grabs your glass and hands it to the bartender. She arches her back to stretch then raises an eyebrow at you to get your consent. One more couldn't hurt. You nod and she refills the glass and sets it back in front of you before shrugging her shoulders and walking away.
"Nothing important." You ran your fingers around the chilled glass before taking it into your full palm. "Can I do something for you?" You ask politely kind of hoping she'd go away. Yeah it was rude, but whatever. This time you take in a rather large gulp and swish it around in your mouth for a moment.
A feminine hand slides onto your shoulder. You turn, eyebrows raised in suspicion of the strange girl beside you. Her heart shaped face holds a grin while her green eyes glisten from underneath mousey, sandy blonde bangs. Her long, mascara coated eyelashes batted mysteriously at you coaxing a healthy amount of curiosity to ooze out of you.
"Oh sorry." She chuckles, taking a swig of her own drink and swallowing. A light flush graces her pale skin due to her assumed alcohol consumption, but she still looks to be more or less sober. She moves her hand away. "You just looked bored I guess. Wondering if I could do anything to help."
"That's okay. Thanks for the offer though." You flick your wrist causing a tiny crackling noise to emit from it. A crease settles deep into your forehead. You casually roll your shoulders in small circles. To an unpleasant surprise you find that you are quite sore all over. Your eyes swish back to the strange girl who is now staring at you.
Unblinking.
Staring at you.
It felt like you could spontaneously combust as any second. You hated people looking at you. Maybe you were in the wrong business. Yeah, maybe you were. You looked back at her, into her pools of emerald. Now she was a gem. You kept looking into her eyes for some unknown reason. She simply smiled back, almost like she had a secret. You knew that you would've gladly told her one of your own had she asked.
After exchanging a few words you had found out that her name was Maka and that she was also a regular. Good to know you decide.
"Rough day?" She asked.
"Is it really that obvious?" You swirled the amber around.
She nods. "Mine wasn't much better." Maka pauses. "Drinking away your problems won't help. Believe me, I've tried."
You blinked back in amazement. How could she have any problems? She was the kind of girl that everything went right for. With the flip of her ash-blonde hair and the bat of her long, coated eyelashes; she was the type of girl that guys like you fell for. It amazed you how easily you conversed with her. You talked with her about everything that came to mind. Work, drinks, family, friends. The only thing you forgot to mention was that you were a musician. You didn't think she would be particularly impressed anyways.
"You come here often?" She asked a few topics later. You nodded. She giggled slightly, her face slightly blushed. "I guess we kind of came to that conclusion earlier."
"I guess so." You respond.
"I should probably be going now." There was a hint of melancholy etched into her words. It almost wasn't perceptible, but you were good at reading people. Was she sad to be leaving you or was she disappointed to enter back into reality? You know that you shouldn't assume things, but you do anyways. It was the second one.
And so she does. Even though you two had been drinking things of an alcoholic nature, she didn't seem the least bit affected- another thing that you two did not have in common. She pays swiftly and glances at you one final time before turning around and walks out the front door.
After all that chit chat you are willing to bet that she would never have an identity crisis like you were having right now. Maka seemed strong and independent. Kind of not like yourself. It was all a huge satire, your life. Playing music scared the shit out of you, but you drowned out your mind with music. It reminded you of how easy it was to talk to this Maka chick, but she would never accept you into her life. For some reason, deep down you still felt a twinge of satisfaction.
You wanted to see her again, but you probably never would.
How beautifully depressing.
Almost like her.
Author's Note: Not sure if I should continue this, but writing in second person is fun none the less.