A Kiss on the Hand
You walk into the bar and are greeted with a chorus of your name form the regulars. You smile and wave, then walk towards the counter. You smile at the bartender in greeting and he nods, his eyes squinting in a smile.
"What can I get you today?" He asks.
"Mmmm, cheese fries please!" You answer. You love the cheese fries here. And the normal fries. And the curly fries. And the onion rings. And the burgers...and hot wings.
You love almost all of the food in the restaurant, even the hot dogs.
He nods and heads to the kitchen and you pull out your phone. Your job gives you an hour for lunch, but it still expects you to be at their beck and call. You check your email and you're pleased to find nothing new, so you turn and talk to the bird monster to pass the time.
Grillby comes back with your order and sets the fresh plate in front of you. You don't know his secret, but everything is always freshly made and cooked to perfection in record time. You really love this place.
"Thanks," you say and pick up a fry. They're hot, but not hot enough to burn.
"Anything to drink?" He asks.
"Apple cider please," you answer automatically. You know he doesn't have it, but it never stops you from asking.
"I'm sorry," he says calmly. He's used to this by now too. "We don't serve apple cider here."
"Aw. Orange juice then please."
He nods and goes to get your drink. You take a bite out of the cheese fries and think that if this place served apple cider, then it would be perfect. It has a warm and welcoming atmosphere, friendly patrons, delicious and reasonably priced food, and a hot-no, handsome bartender.
You really love this place. You just wish you discovered it earlier. And that it served Apple cider.
You give Grillby a wide smile when he sets your juice down. He gives you an expectant look in return and you start telling him about everything that's happened since you last saw him two days ago.
You remember the first time you came into his bar. It had been after a particularly bad day at work, and you had wanted to get /wasted./You never did though, as after the first drink, you half cornered the poor bartender and spilled your guts out to him. The next day at work, when you were looking for a place to eat lunch at, you remembered the place and decided to eat there. You were worried that it would be awkward and half freaked out when he remembered you. Instead of it being worse, however, he had asked if you were feeling better and the two of you had a pleasant conversation. You had a great lunch that time, and it kept you coming back.
You finish your meal and tip well before you return to work. You recognize that Grillby's is a business and that its bartender is most probably talking to you because of his job description. Still, you can't help but love the place.
-/-/-/-/-
You're back in there the next day, and wave as everyone greets you. You walk to the bar and greet Grillby, who smiles at you and asks for your order. You order onion rings and check your email as he prepares your food.
Once he sets your plate down, he brings you the condiments and then does the strangest thing-he leaves without asking what drink you want. You're stunned and a little hurt, but you don't say anything. You fret for a little bit that you've somehow offended him, but he's not around for you to apologize to. In the end, you eat a ring halfheartedly, noting that it was delicious and fresh as always.
He comes back with a green glass bottle and a wine glass. He set the glass in front of you and you watch in confusion as he opens the bottle. You figure out what's going on as soon as he starts pouring the drink-you recognize the smell and color anywhere.
It's apple cider!
He sets the filled glass in front of you and you beam at him. You take a sip and yes, it's apple cider, and like all of the food and drinks in the bar, it's delicious.
"I can't believe you're finally serving apple cider!" You tell him excitedly.
"I'm not," he replies. He looks to the side and scratches the side of his face nervously. Your eyes widen at his behavior; it was very uncharacteristic of him to do that.
"It's just that..." He's hesitant as he speaks, and it makes your heart flutter, "you always order apple cider. I just thought it would be...something special worth doing. For you."
Oh. Aw.
Awwwww.
He is so sweet!
You blush a bright red color and start giggling. You're equal parts relieved that he isn't upset with you and ecstatic that he cares this much. You feel very special and very happy. You glance at him and he's giving you a very affectionate look.
This is the best day ever.
"Th-thank you," you finally manage to say. He tells you to enjoy before he goes to care for his other customers, taking the bottle with him.
You finish your meal in absolute bliss and sip the cider like it's fine wine. It might as well be-this is the best you've had in a long while.
Once you're done, you ask for the check and pay, tipping better than usual. As you turn to leave, Grillby stops you and gives you a to-go cup of cider.
"On the house," he tells you.
You gape.
"I—I couldn't!" You squeak. He smiles and pushes the cup into your hands.
"I insist."
"Thank—thank you!" You say in awe. You have to actively resist the urge to hug him.
"Have a good day," he tells you. You smile and grab your stuff, turning to leave. You're halfway to the door when you remember something important.
You turn and walk back to the counter, and Grillby gives you an inquisitive look.
"I never properly introduced myself," you say. He smiles and you extend your hand, giving him your name. He gently takes your hand in his and lifts it slightly as he bows. He then kisses your hand, lingering longer than necessary.
"Charmed," he says once he lifts his head up. Your face is a deep red and you have the silliest grin on your face. All you can think about is how warm your hand feels, and if you can get away with never washing it again.
He keeps his hold on your hand for a few more seconds before letting go. You immediately mourn the loss of the contact, but he gives you a small smile with lidded eyes and tells you that he'll see you tomorrow.
Not trusting your mouth at the moment, you nod vigorously and turn to leave. You feel like you're walking on clouds by the time you walk out of the bar. You speed walk to work, occasionally glancing at your hand and giggling stupidly. You can still feel his warmth on it, and it makes you tingle all over.
This was the best. He was so charming! And handsome. And cute. And hot, even if you didn't want to admit it because it's a pun. You couldn't wait to be back tomorrow. Maybe he'll have more apple cider—
—You're very suddenly pulled to the side and into an alley. A harsh push to your shoulder and you stumble deeper in as you turn around to balance. Once you stand straight, you see something pointed at your face. You blink and horror and fear fill you.
It was a gun barrel.
You were staring down a gun barrel.
You stop breathing. The man—yes, it was a man, your brain notes; a human man—says something, but you don't really hear him. Your brain screams at you to run, but your body refuses to move. The man shakes the gun in your face and something clicks. You throw the apple cider at him and turn and run. You don't get further than two steps when pain and heat bursts in your back and through your chest as a loud noise echoes in the walls of the alley.
The impact and the pain make your knees buckle and you fall face first to the floor. Pain burst from your nose as it hits the floor.
Your brain is still screaming at you to move, so you try to move your arms and legs, but they don't respond. Pain gathers in your chest and you feel something warm on your face and pooling on your back. You try to pull in a breath of air to help you think, but your lungs refuse to work and can't pull in enough air.
You panic and try to scream, but your voice won't work. Your limbs won't work, your lung won't work, but your tears do. You're crying when you feel the man grab your legs and move them, and by then your vision is going black at the edges. The man's hands are moving up your body, but you don't pay attention to that. You're paying attention to fighting the lethargy that's setting in, even if it's a losing battle.
You start to think of the apple cider and how delicious it was. You then think of how you'll never set foot in the bar again. You love that place.
Your vision blacks out and your last thought is of the fact that you can't feel Grillby's warmth on your hand anymore.