Rinse, stack, repeat.

Rinse, stack, repeat.

The collection of glasses currently covering the bar's surface did not seem to be getting any smaller as Nick continued to fill the dishwasher.

Rinse, stack, repeat.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his gaze flickered to the watch on his hand. Two am.

Man he hated closing up the bar. It meant you got stuck with all the crappy jobs - taking out the trash, pushing the last drunken customers out of the door, dealing with any little 'surprises' left in the bathrooms. It sucked.

But tonight was even worse than usual. Bob was sick so he had pulled a double shift then he had dealt with a pretty rambunctious bachelor party who kept trying to sneak beers from the cooler. To top it all off, one of them had then puked on the bar (and down Nick's pants). His stomach shifted as the acidic smell rose up into his nostrils. A pretty shitty day, by all accounts.

And on top of all that, leering over his mind the whole day had been the fact that Jess and he had had their first real argument as a couple. The kind of fight that can change things. The kind of fight that can break things.

With a grimace he looked around the deserted bar. The twinkling Christmas lights that they had set up around the room seemed to taunt him with their jolliness. Sometimes he hated this place.

Slamming the dishwasher door shut with his foot, he picked up a towel and began to run it over the beer stained surface of the bar, letting his mind replay the events of that morning.

"Morning beautiful," he purred, kissing her bare shoulder delicately. He felt her shift beside him, turning until her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the early sunshine.

"Mmmm," she mumbled sleepily, pushing up her arms into a stretch as she let out a soft yawn. "Morning to you too, handsome."

He buried his hand under her waist and pulled her closer to him, breathing in her sweet floral scent. She always smelled so good. Snuggling into her neck, he just began to think he might get a morning treat when his phone started to ring out to the tune of 'Cotton Eyed Joe' - vibrating softly against the nightstand as he reached out and picked it up.

"Hello?" he asked wearily, slightly disappointed at the intrusion. His mother's voice blared loudly through the speaker. "Mom - you don't have to talk so loud!" Grumpily he pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Sorry honey," she replied, barely any quieter, "I'm calling about the wedding."

"Wedding?" Nick asked, sneaking a look at Jess as she lay beside him, her chestnut curls pooled around her face as she watched him talk.

"Honey, we need numbers. You know it's in six weeks - I need to know if that lady friend of yours will be making it."

Beside him, he felt Jessica stir - her ears pricking up at the mention of her. "Wedding?" she mouthed to him, her face confused.

He felt the color drain from his face. He hadn't told her about Jamie's wedding yet. He was keeping it a secret. It was going to be a surprise…

"Mom, I can't talk about this right now," he replied in a terse voice, turning away from Jess, trying to disguise the conversation. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Alright honey, but I need to know by New Year's."

"Fine Mom," he muttered as he pressed the cancel button and tossed the phone to the bottom of the bed. How much did she hear?

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"A wedding? Jamie's getting married?" her voice was etched in confused and her brow was crumpled up tightly - her pale blue eyes glassy and clear.

"Um-" he stuttered, quickly licking his lip as he sought for an excuse.

"You brother is getting married and you weren't going to tell me?" She drew back from him, her voice hardening as she spoke, she was looking at him in the most peculiar way.

"No- that's not what-"

"Well that's what it sounds like to me. How long have you known about this?" she demanded, balling her hands in his tartan comforter.

"Two months," he admitted. No, no, no - this was not what was supposed to happen.

"Two months?" she cried, swinging her legs off the bed and pushing herself to a standing position, "And - what, you weren't going to ask me to go? You weren't even going to tell me? What the hell, Miller?"

Shuffling across the bed towards her, he could see the first pricks of tears appearing in the corner of her eyes. "No, wait, Jess - that's not what had happened, I-"

She shook her head, "No, I get it. It's fine. I can see this is not as important to you as it is to me. You've been holding back on me for a while Miller and I understand. You're not as serious about things as I am."

No, no, no - what the hell was going on?

"Jessica you are completely overreacting." He began to laugh - a narrow nervous laugh that fell flat in the silence between them.

"Am I, Nick?"

She'd never spoken to him like that before.

Suddenly his phone began to ring again; Cotton Eyed Joe taunting him as they stared at each other. Glancing over he saw it was the bar. It was supposed to be his morning off; it must be important.

"I have to-" he gestured to the phone as she watched him pick it up.

"Whatever Nick," she muttered as she swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her - the vibrations echoing through the loft.

It was after three by the time he made it back home. Jess's door was shut and her light was off. She always left her door open when he worked late so he could crawl in and cocoon her body with his own.

But not tonight.

Instead he grabbed a Heisler, downing its contents before he took a long, hot shower. Washing away the smells of the bar, trying to think.

All he had wanted to do was surprise her. The two tickets to Chicago he had bought sat in his bureau, along with a reservation for a fancy hotel. It was her Christmas gift.

Why oh why, hadn't he just explained that this morning?

Instead the woman of his dreams now believed he was a thoughtless schmuck who didn't care about her.

His mind couldn't rest - thinking and worrying. He almost knocked on her door twice but he knew she had work the next day and, frankly, he was scared. What if she rejected him? This was the longest they had gone without talking. She wasn't answering his calls or texts. He missed her.

It had been almost 24 hours.

Trying to sleep was futile and instead he lay and counted the minutes until she would be awake. Wondering if sleep had cleared her mind. Maybe he could explain everything after all and-

"Nick!"

His door swung open and an angry Schmidt pounded into the room. He quickly glanced at his alarm clock - six am, his roommate was awake for his pre-work gym 'sesh' (as he liked to call it).

"Hey man, what are you doing?"

Schmidt's eyes bulged as he stood in the doorway.

"What the hell did you do to Jess?"

"Jess? Nothing, it's all a big misunderstanding." He swung his legs onto the floor and pushed his head into his hands.

"Nothing?" Schmidt replied incredulously, "That woman spent three hours crying in my room yesterday. Over you, you big jerk!"

"She did?" Nick asked sadly. He had hurt her. Really hurt her.

"Yeah, you idiot. I knew you would do this. I knew you would screw up eventually."

Nick's heart dropped. His friends words merely confirming his own feelings.

He was a screw up.

He was a failure.

He didn't deserve the good things - he just wrecked them.

"Is that what you really think of me?" he asked quietly, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor.

Schmidt's had swung to his hip, "If the shoe fits…"

Nodding, Nick stood up. He dug a pair of sweats from his dresser before pulling on a half clean hoodie and pushing his feet into a pair of sneakers. Finally he walked up to his friend who had, during all the time, watched him in silence

"Well I guess that's what I am then."

Wordlessly, he had stormed out of the room, grabbing his keys and a bottle of whiskey that sat on the kitchen countertop before walking out of the loft.

The morning air was cool against his skin. He dug his hands further into his pockets as he hugged his body - the bottle of liquor still tucked under his left arm.

The empty streets suited his mood and he walked aimlessly for what seemed like hours until he found himself at the park. It was quiet, the only people visible were a few early dog walkers and joggers. Tiredness suddenly washed over him. Stumbling towards a nearby bench, he sat down with a thud, using the thumb to twist off the cap from the bottle before taking a long swig.

Yep. This was about right. Nick Miller - failure at life, emotionally stunted, seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle. Well, even if that wasn't true, it's what everyone seemed to think, so why not prove them right?

Lying back against the hard wooden seat, he felt the alcohol begin to chase away the chill, slowly seeping into his blood steam.

What a mess, what a huge, ridiculous mess his life was. And he'd managed to screw up just about the only good thing in it. Jessica.

He felt something shift beside him. Sighing, he said, "Plenty of other benches in the park," his voice gruff and flat. The stranger didn't seem to take the hint. Turning his head to his right, he began to repeat himself, "I said there are-"

He paused when he recognized the softly lined face beside him. A half smile pulled on his lips as he straightened up - "Tran! If I'd have known it was you…"

His companion merely smiled - as if he expected anything more from him.

Silently he continued to take small sips of whiskey, rubbing his face at the same time - trying to chase away the last of his tiredness.

"You know what Tran? Life sucks. Specifically, my life." The old man continued to beam away - could he even speak English?

Whatever, Nick thought, he needed to get this out.

"I have this amazing ability to screw up the simplest of tasks." He shook his head, breathing heavily and watching his breath mist into the frigid air. "I seem to have some amazing ability to make the people around me miserable. Great, huh?"

Tran still smiled. Nick sighed, placing the bottle on the bench between them.

"You know what? I'm a failure. I fail at life. That's like the worst thing you can fail at - worse than Driver's Ed, worse than college, worse than anything. I'm a failure."

Saying the words out loud made them seem all the more real. He let them sink in, pushing his mood lower. He took another long drink. The alcohol was starting to pull him under now - the lack of sleep and food combing in with the liquor to sink him into sweet oblivion. Let him forget for a little while.

"Maybe things would be better around here if I were never born."

A sudden wind whipped up around them. Small pieces of trash flew through the air and Tran's floppy hair danced wildly. A peculiar, vacant feeling pervaded his body - like he was there, but he wasn't there too.

The park was starting to blur. He pulled his arms around himself, trying to fight the chill - sleep was overtaking him. He hadn't drank that much.

He looked at the silent man beside him. Still smiling; just looking at Nick, never moving. He had this strange glint in his eye.

"Tran?" Nick asked as his head began to roll around his shoulders.

What the-

But the thought vanished as he blacked out.