It was routine really; work, home, bar. Work, home, bar, work home, bar... Ivan had developed the cycle without realizing it, and now, no matter how much he itched to shake it off, it stuck to him like a leech. The dark setting of the bar caught his attention, pulling him in like an old friend would. Not that he would know the feeling.
It had started out with the man going once every other week, never expecting it to grow much more than that. To put it bluntly, it became an addiction – no – a disease. An incurable one, getting pounded into his brain and causing him to count down to the last second of work when he could go home to properly dress for a night spent with the familiar feel of the neck of a bottle in his hands. Hands shaky and throat dry, he'd rush home, thrown on anything to suit the bars little class, and set out to drown himself in vodka and feelings he'd forgotten he possessed.
With the lights dimmed, barely anyone could recognize the pain that tormented him in every possible way. The ones that did faced the threat of a fight, and no person in their right mind would dare challenge a man of his stature. However, this was a bar, so the common sense of the common people were thrown to the wind, sacrificed for a few moments of the sweet freedom from reality every patron desired to achieve.
More than a few times, Ivan was forced to cater to the wishes of the men who boasted around like the uncivilized animals they tended to be. Though the cracks and uncharacteristic high shrieks of the challengers made something akin to satisfaction well up deep inside of himself, nothing of the beatings made the spirit of the brighter feelings he had once before come back, never quite reaching the happiness he so desperately ached for. It seemed as though after the fights, it left him more broken than the poor souls that had tried to test their strength.
The bartenders – young, nervous things that never kept the Russian waiting - both witnessed and heard the noises erupting from the scuffles, but they turned the other cheek at the first sign of it. Ivan was a valued customer, and should he be forced out of the bar, they'd all regret it. So, even when his opponents caught a good chance to hit and he ended up blood other than theirs on his clothes, they just went along as if nothing happened, praying that the man hadn't killed anyone this time.
Then one day, the merciless God that he despised so strongly, decided Ivan's life wasn't interesting enough. That nothing he was going through now was worth his judgment. Because on a day that the Russian couldn't recall without a shot, that all powerful being had dumped onto him a man whose eyes were so blue, yet as dead as his own. Whose hair had a playful and youthful look to it, but upon further inspection was just plain disheveled, like that of an older man. The man wasn't even that, barely able to even walk inside the bar without someone asking for proof he was allowed to drown in the murky liquids within. But once he had gotten close enough for Ivan to get a good look at him, he saw years of experience in his eyes, and that was all he needed to know, going back to nursing the glass bottle in his hand.
Seeing as how all other seats were taken by a particularly loud crowd (from a college, no doubt), Alfred pulled out a stool next to the Russian, not even acknowledging the other as he ordered his poison. Ivan, glancing as casually as he could, observed the other quickly before drawing the conclusion he was here for the exact reason as himself. To drink himself happy for but one night.
As the night wore on, the two sitting next to each other slowly filled themselves with what both believed would make their lives all the better, yet the same thing was happening at the other end as well. However, this batch of students were in a much more violent state, disrupting the small buzz that had the rest of the bar relaxed.
Shouts and jeers, whistles and calls; the air reeked with the smell of their breath as they acted like wild dogs. On the hunt for alcohol and more skin to pinch and grab, a smaller group split from them, half stumbling to where Ivan sat with the new comer.
Words slurred with the tell tale signs of them getting drunk as they taunted the bartender. With the threat of being kicked out, they back off, only to find new prey.
Which, coincidentally, they decided would be the younger man sitting next to Ivan.
Getting in his face and clogging the air with their retched stench, the stranger turned, hand clenching tighter around the glass he hold. By the creased bow and tensed shoulders, Ivan could tell the man would lose his temper soon. And suddenly, the other jerked up, fingers curling and eyes going wide. Ivan, confused as to what had happened, only had a second to observe the other before the image shifted to a new, expected, scene.
Alfred, now straddling one of them men from the group, had his back turned to Ivan and the Russian could clearly see what had caused the jolt of movement from the other. A wet spot, trailing all the way down the man's back, caused by a drunken student's beer. Well, Alfred wasn't about to just sit there and take this. He was going to fight.
Fists flying and bodies throwing themselves on the blonde, he persisted. Nothing else in the room mattered but beating the one who had shocked him into an unrecognizable pile. Ivan, who had backed up to watch rather than join, noticed something over all the commotion. Every time Alfred had been pulled back, there hadn't been a look of hate on his face. Anger was no where, instead there was only sadness. Self-pity, in all actuality. Tears running down his face, even after security pulled him off the now bloody suspect, the blonde just looked done with life. Much like the man who had watched it all from a safe distance much like a corpse.
After the cops had come and gone, Alfred was left with a warning and a split lip, going back to drinking as if nothing had happened. The light reflecting in his eyes did nothing to mask the feeling that had always been there, even before the fight. Ivan just hadn't seen it until now.
Without a word, Ivan sat back down in his spot, scooting the tiniest bit over to get closer to the blonde. Waiting until his glass was empty, as the American went to pay for it, Ivan placed down the money, not even glancing in his direction. It was a silent offering, of drinks and companionship. And with a second of quick decision on Alfred's part, he took up the Russian's offer. A quick introduction, and the rest of their night was filled to the brim with alcohol that left their throats raw.
Days upon days, turning to months, the two met daily in the bar. Barely a word beyond hello was spoken, each just basking in each other's presence. How it came to be that they were having stare downs over the bill, neither knew. But as Alfred woke to a raging hangover and Ivan to a screeching world, both counted the seconds until they could come to the bar where they had met the smallest of hopes in life. Where an acquaintance, friend even, was waiting to buy them a drink. The nights carried on, now passing by quickly compared to before, and maybe, just maybe, it was because of the one now by their side.
There was no happiness however. No smiles, laughter, jokes between two buddies; that was reserved for the lucky ones. The people who came to the bar to have fun and let loose for one night. For Alfred and Ivan, this was the norm. Drinking away their troubles as if the alcohol were the sea, and problems just trash. Let them sink or travel in the rancid ocean, because it'd all be at the bottom by the time they finished. The pair's troubles were always there, just covered up by the haze caused from the booze
But both of them knew, from the bottom of their hearts, that they came here to find something. Both of them had lost out on the thing other humans had discovered long ago, and they came to find their prize. Somewhere, over the sound of the music no one cared for and the voices slurred with their poison, a noise rang out, only reaching the duo's ears. A song of sirens, beckoning them to a watery and wanted death. Their fate lay at the bottom of one of the endless supply of bottles in front of them, and they'd keep drinking until they found the source, the very thing that would finally warm their hearts instead of stomachs.
Ivan and Alfred, a pair that met by the trickster they called fate. Through the downs and ups of times, they were there for each other, saying everything without moving their mouths. Another bottle gone, another chance of happiness eliminated. As the glasses in front of them refilled their high pools of burning liquid, Alfred and Ivan's sense of feeling drained, emotions taking their place. They were two people, not even a fraction of the Earth. They saw no reason to stop or yield in their actions. Should they go to sleep one day and never wake up, then so be it. Just let it be known that they searched and searched, but the illusion of a personal nirvana was out of their reach.
Coming to the same bar, listening to the same music, and drinking themselves to death. It was a horrible habit that left them feeling and looking a mess. And neither wished to break the chain solidified in time itself.
Yo, forgot to put this in here. Anyway, this is my first solo fanfic on here. Don't know where I was going with the idea, but I hope you like it! If you can, please leave a review; I'd love to hear feedback!