Alan never knows whether to be happy or sad when he makes a friend at work. It certainly improves his day, to have the pleasure of someone else's company to ease him through the late-night hours of his shift, but emotionally investing in someone who is a regular at the bar is a quick way to sign up for a lot more sympathetic heartbreak than Alan really wants.
At least he never has to make the hard decision, care or don't-care, hurt or self-defense. It's always made for him by the time he sees the danger; it's one of the problems of being a friendly bartender.
"Hey Jou," he says without turning around at the sound of the door opening. "Your regular?"
Jou doesn't answer, but by the time Alan turns back around with the martini glass there's a bill resting on the counter while Jou drifts towards the dartboard. There's no one in the restaurant; it's the odd hour of the night, too late for dinner and too early for half-drunk dates. This is the time for the regulars, the heavy drinkers, the ones who start off steady and hold to a set pace for hours on end. It's Jou's time.
"How'd it go?" Alan asks as he pushes the register shut - the bill is enough for the night, Jou knows himself as well as Alan does - and comes out from behind the counter, wiping his hands against his apron.
Jou doesn't shake his head, doesn't look away from the dartboard. That's answer in and of itself, even before he says, "He said no. Again."
"Are you sure he knows you're interested?" Alan leans against one of the support columns, watches the first of Jou's darts fly straight to the bullseye like it's on a string. Even after hours, Jou never misses a shot. "Have you told him?"
"I can't." Another dart. Jou's rubbing his thumb over the remaining ones; Alan's seen him play with his cigarettes like that, too, when it's warm enough outside to linger in the smoky dark. "He deserves better than me."
"That's a hell of a martyr complex," Alan points out. "You're making decisions for him like you know better. Shouldn't you let the kid decide for himself how he feels about you?"
That gets a humorless smile tugging at the corner of Jou's mouth. He doesn't look away from the dartboard. "I've been making decisions for him since he was a kid and I did know better." He throws another dart. It forms a neat cluster with the first few, leaves just one more pressing into Jou's fingertips. "He thinks I'm a hero."
"Aren't you?"
Alan can see Jou's shoulders curve in on himself, slouch like he's defending himself from attack. He throws the last dart left-handed; it sinks into the board in the exact middle of the others.
"There's no such thing." He turns his back towards Alan, blocks off the bartender's line of sight as Jou moves towards the bar and reaches for his waiting drink. "Only kids believe in being saved."
