Mika eventually chose Zombieland as the movie they would be viewing that night. Lacus had honestly seen it four hundred times (roughly) and seeing all the red blood reminded him of pizza and spaghetti sauce. So it was perfect for tonight!

However, when he told Mika this fact, for some odd reason, the blond scooted away from him on the couch, looking a little weirded out.

Oh well.

Settling down against the arm of the couch, Lacus repeated the rules of the apocalypse straight from memory, Mika muttering something incoherent as he did so. Honestly, Lacus would probably die in an apocalypse, due to lack of normal food. He might be able to live off non-perishables for a while, but soon he'd start craving for a hamburger or a Moon Demon Pizza Company Special. He'd die shortly.

Just as Tallahasse offered Columbus a ride in the movie, Lacus felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and pulled it out to see that, to his delight, his friend(?) had texted him.

Shiro: hey u fuck i wanna tat tmrw 2 schedule me ok.

Me: ah my ever so lovely customer shiro! im so glad you remembered my schedule and knew that was exactly when my lunch break was! 3

Shiro: im getting a tat tmrw whether u like it or not.

Shiro: and its SEISHIRO. if u keep callin me shiro im gonna shove a cactus up ur ass.

Me: fine but only because you are my beloved friend and customer

Shiro: forget a cactus im gonna shove an entire CAR. up ur lil ass. watch me.

Me: okie dokie see you tomorrow my bro friend buddy chum pal

Shiro: ill shove the entire cntry of AUSTRALIA up ur ass.

"Who are you texting?" Mika asked in a disinterested voice, glancing towards Lacus, "Someone from work?"

"Nah, customer of mine that comes in about every week," Lacus answered, sliding his phone back into his pocket, "The pizza should be here by now, they normally come really fast…"

"You're probably their only customer, that's why," Mika said.

"Nah-uh, mister bartender dude said he ate their pizza too," Lacus stuck his tongue out at Mika, "Wait, we're getting to the part where they're fuckin' scammed by Wichita and Little Rock, we gotta watch this."

However, as soon as he stated this, there was a knock on the door, and he didn't know if he should be excited at the prospect of food or slightly disappointed because it interrupted one of his favorite scenes of the movie. Oh well. It was pizza, so he couldn't complain.

"Oh helloooooo-" Lacus sang as he opened the door, but stopped when he was met with a new face. He'd been expecting either Shinoa or Yoichi, as they were really the only ones who seemed able to put up with him, but instead saw a black haired boy with bright green eyes.

"...Who the fuck are you?" Lacus asked, staring at him. The boy's brows furrowed as he shoved the pizza into Lacus's chest.

"I'm your delivery guy," He said, before pointing to his name tag, "I'm Yuu. Just started working here. Also, I chose what to put on your pizza, so you're welcome."

"Ahh, you did?" Lacus's attention was averted to the pizza box in his hands. Smelled delicious...And also...A bit strange?

"It's totally good," Yuu boasted, puffing his chest out proudly, "Can I have a tip?"

"What did you put on it?" Lacus questioned, trying to figure out what the strange smell was.

"Spicy chicken nuggets."

There was a pause.

"...I'm sorry?" Lacus was sure he'd misheard him.

"Spicy chicken nuggets."

"You put what on the pizza?" Mika asked, suddenly appearing by Lacus, but he froze at the sight of Yuu. There was a long pause, and Lacus suddenly felt as if he were intruding for whatever reason.

"I'm Yuu," Yuu said pointlessly.

"Mika," Mika responded, shoving Lacus out of the way and extending his hand to Yuu, who took it, "I've seen this guy order pizza from you guys a bunch, but I don't think I've ever seen you before…?"

"Just started working here," Yuu repeated. Mika nodded in understanding. Lacus, however, was busy extracting a slice of pizza from the box without dropping it, wanting to see how it tasted. Sure enough, there were spicy chicken nuggets on top of the pizza, and a couple of bites later told him that…

...It wasn't half bad?

"Meeeka ohmahgad ish sho gud!" Lacus said around a mouthful of pizza, and when Mika suddenly recoiled from him, as if just remembering he were here, he nearly laughed, though all the food prevented him from doing so. He swallowed heavily, before saying, "Mika, you gotta try it! It's so good!"

"It...Ah…" Mika looked at the pizza, eyebrows drawing together, "Yuu-chan picked out the topping?"

"Eh?! Chan?! Why chan?! " Yuu asked indignantly.

Lacus shoved the rest of his slice into Mika's face, encouraging him to take a bit. Mika looked a bit worried at the topping, and extremely wary.

"Do I have to, Lacus…?" He groaned.

"Come on, man, I fought tooth and nail to have that topping as an option!" Yuu complained, crossing his arms, "Just a bite? Tell me how it tastes!"

Mika looked as if he was seriously regretting the life choices he had made that had led him to this very situation (befriending Lacus was probably number one at this point) as he took the slice reluctantly from Lacus's hand. After a silent moment of staring down at the slice, Mika took a couple of bites.

"So it's good, right? Can I have a tip? Stupid Guren says we don't get tips, but I could totally use a tip," Yuu said, leaning into Lacus's apartment with a look of eagerness on his face, "Dude, help me out please, I really need a tip."

"I only have enough money for the pizza," Lacus said apologetically, though his imagination was already running wild. He was so going to devour this entire pizza in minutes.

"I can tip him!" Mika said, before rushing away. Lacus almost felt like laughing. Mika never acted like this. Yuu flashed a large grin, which seemed to mirror the one on Lacus's own face because hell yeah, food.

Later, after they had paid and tipped Yuu, sitting in front of the TV with pizza in hand, Lacus turned to Mika and asked,

"Could you be more gay? "

"Shut up," Mika growled, shoving half of his slice into his mouth.


René wondered what he did to end up here.

It's not really like he'd tried to end up here. Or anywhere else, really. He hadn't really tried to end up anywhere. But he did know he didn't want to do this for long.

Graduating high school at the age of seventeen and lounging around his house, not knowing to what to do with his future, hadn't pleased either of his parents. He'd skipped freshman and sophomore year, and didn't necessarily want to attend college. He didn't know what he wanted to do. He didn't want to be an engineer like his father or a florist like his mother.

He didn't want to go to college.

But his parents had told him one thing- Go to college or we kick you out.

So he'd made what seemed like the best possible choice at the time-he often made food for himself and younger siblings when his parents were out, and rather enjoyed doing it sometimes. So why not take it a step further and go to culinary school?

And it'd been hell.

He didn't like it. Didn't really care how to fry mushrooms or the perks of some-or-other type of seaweed on sushi. But it was either this, or get kicked out of his parent's house, which seemed like a horrible option at the time.

Now, he was glad to be out.

But even if he hated his classes and wished this wasn't what he had chosen, he still learned it, and René hoped it could at least land him a decent job. It's not like he was asking to be a chef at a five-star-restaurant, but he didn't want to work at McDonald's, either.

He'd applied as a soup chef at a café near his apartment and even considered a bakery that was farther away from his house, but seemingly cleaned well. What had caught his attention, though, were the advertisements seemingly plastered all around town. He was getting to know the town by walking around it, largely unfamiliar with it as he'd grown up in a larger city over two hundred miles away, when he noticed the bright posters everywhere.

They were hiring bartenders and the like at this new bar, Progenitor, and wow, the pay didn't look bad at all. Nearly thirteen bucks an hour-for eight hours, bi-weekly paychecks...If he'd done the math correctly, that's two thousand dollars every two weeks.

So obviously, René applied.

And now he was wondering if he should regret his decision.

Eyeing a patron who had just downed an entire bottle of beer within seconds and then proceeded to scream with either rage or fear, René was wondering if perhaps this hadn't been the brightest idea. Of course, he'd stopped to consider what working in bar would mean-loud, drunk people and possibly having to interact with them. But the 12.75 per hour pay fogged his mind a little, calling to him. Who cared if you were surrounded by drunk idiots for eight hours a day?! Two thousand dollars bi-weekly!

So, temporarily ignoring his own social skills and lack of mixing knowledge, René was hired and then taught how to mix drinks by Kida, who was apparently an expert in mixology.

"Mixology's an art," Kida said seriously, filling a champagne flute halfway with sparkling wine, eyes intense. His eyes could be looking elsewhere but his hands moved quickly, smoothly, and professionally as he topped the drink with orange juice, successfully mixing a mimosa. "You've got to get the right amount. Not shake it too much or too little. Even if it out."

"It's just mixing drinks," René had said, only to receive a whack on the back of his head. Anyhow, he learned quickly, and by the second week of being hired, was already making a cosmopolitan cocktail with ease, the cocktail shaker in hand holding whatever needed for the drink. Some people watched him with awe, others barely gave him a second glance.

It was whatever.

Most people didn't talk to him. They usually came with friends, so why would they speak to the bartender? But it was fine, because René wasn't really all that great at anything that wasn't practiced and professional polite conversation. His lack of friends and irritated ex-college roommate proved that. Sometimes he'd add to a conversation if he felt like he was coming off as too rude (didn't want a customer complaint, now, did he?) but mostly just stood there and mixed drinks.

Today, however, a purple-haired man with amber eyes and long eyelashes asked him who he was.

René probably should've expected it somewhat, seeing as he wasn't usually there on Fridays, but it still came up a bit as a shock.

Well, it's not like he had to say much else besides his name, right?

"René," He said, moving the mojito to the blond-haired guy who looked barely of legal drinking age. Kid probably just turned eighteen.

The kid instantly downed half of it, ignoring the straw placed inside. René almost felt bad for him. What kind of stress did he go through to down the drink like that?

His purple-haired friend made a jibe, and the kid responded sharply. They went back and forth at it, the purple-haired one (he said his name was Lacus, right?) talking in a teasing tone and the blond (Mika, apparently) talking back in a dry voice.

René realized he'd been staring a little too long at them going back and forth, and turned his head away, mentally berating himself. He'd done this too often. Crap, what if they'd noticed him staring without saying anything? Did they think him rude?

Oh, please please, no customer complaint. 12.75 an hour is too good to drop.

The name of a certain pizza company and their special caught his ears, and in an attempt to appear polite, said,

"Actually, the blood orange pizza is quite good."

Instantly, their eyes flickered to him just as his own landed on an empty glass near a customer, so he leaned across the bar to grab it, glad he didn't have to look them directly in the eyes in case he'd been rude by making a comment. Crap. He was already feeling tense. Again.

However, surprisingly, Lacus pointed at him and said,

"You. I like you."

He turned to his friend to say something else, but René tuned out their conversation, because he already feels out-socialized for today, he's reached his limit.

His shift is from six to two in the morning, so he helps close up along with six or seven other workers. The manager is a rather creepy-looking guy with the surname of Wesker (which René had mistaken for Whisker at first and damn, that'd been embarrassing) and he's the one who always locks the doors, so René usually leaves shortly after clearing up the bar and whatever else needed to be done.

René liked the city at night. Sanguinem was quiet and almost trance-like at night, surreal. The streets were usually busy during the day, and seeing them empty and lit by the street lights was soothing to him, somehow. He'd always liked the quiet.

His apartment wasn't anything special, and the pipes leaked half the damn time, but René didn't particularly mind. He just slept on his bed until eleven in the afternoon and maybe went for a walk. Maybe he should get a dog. That'd keep him busy, right? Then there wouldn't be such a period of "eh" between eleven and six.

He wondered if there was a decent tattoo parlor or such around here. He's always wanted to get one, and now that he's finally got his apartment and job, now seems like a good time to do it.

Maybe he should get a cat instead of a dog. Maybe that would be nicer…

With these random and seemingly unrelated thoughts floating around in his head like wisps of smoke, René fell asleep as soon as his back hit his bed.


René meets purple-haired guy two more times after that before actually speaking to him properly, and that's because he has a question for him.

Both times, Lacus had smiled at him, made a few comments, and even laughed once when he'd replied back in a monotone, and then proceeded to devour a basket of potato skins. Both times he came with a friend-the first time with a girl with purple hair and amber eyes (siblings, maybe?) and another blonde girl, as well as a brunet. Lacus had told them that the place had amazing potato skins, and then proceeded to point at René and say, "This is the bartender guy. He makes me drinks, which is cool, 'cos who else in town would make me an orange-and-tequila Red Bull mixture?"

René only remembered one of their names, which was Yoichi, and only because of the way Lacus said it, which was "YOOOOOOO-itchy!"

He had other interesting customers, too. Once, a blond guy had smoked a pipe in front of him for about 2 hours and made smoke rings. But Lacus was the only one who spoke to him on more than one occasion. And, of course, his strange drink orders left an impression on him.

The second time Lacus came, it was with a man with long, silvery hair and another man who was extremely muscular, his hair different colors. René didn't really like the feeling the silver-haired one gave off, but chose not to say anything as he simply passed him a glass of whiskey. The muscled man asked for flaming Dr. Pepper shots, though, which René actually liked doing, so he set to work on those.

"Oh yeah, René is like, the greatest bartender I know."

"How many bartenders do you know, Lacus?"

"Like. One and a half."

"Who's the half?"

"Uh...That blond guy? With the glass? Shizzy or whatever? With the anger issues? Yeah, him. But he threatened to shove his foot up my ass if I asked for anything off-menu again."

René wants to snort, but right now he's holding flaming alcoholic drinks, so that's probably not a good idea.

The next time Lacus comes is when René actually starts conversation first, and that's because he sees the notebook Lacus has in hand. He flipped through it, brow furrowed, before stopping on some sort of weird sigil that's halfway sketched. He simply ordered a Diamondback cocktail, which makes René pause and almost ask him if something was wrong, before deciding against it.

Lacus doesn't even order food. Sure, René's only met him about a grand total of three times, but from the conversations he's overheard, the guy has a real stomach. The past three times he's ordered the potato skins, and wasn't he just saying they were amazing a week and a half ago?

But Lacus was focused on his sketchbook, while occasionally taking sips from his cocktail. René's almost afraid he's going to spill some on the page.

The bar soon fills up with more patrons, and René tended to all of them as the sound of someone singing horribly off-key to some pop song plays in the background. Great, the karaoke machine is working again. What a joy.

The bar slowly emptied out as the night goes on. It was raining hard outside, so most people leave to not get too caught up in it in case it gets worse.

Lacus hadn't even finished his cocktail and is still focused intently on the sketchbook, as if attempting to burn it to flame with his eyes alone. It's too quiet, and it's a little uncomfortable and making René tense up again, so he cleared his throat as he washed the cocktail shaker and asked,

"Did you draw that?"

Lacus nodded intensely, biting down hard on his pen. He looked ready to stab himself in the chest with it.

"Er…" René glanced up, searching for any other patrons that needed attending. The only other customers were a couple playing at the arcade and a few older gentlemen sitting in silence down the end. Crap. He's got nothing to do. He's gotta say something. Can't be too awkward. That's bad. Being awkward is bad. That leads to a customer complaint. He's already gotten one already, for 'staring too intensely.' What if he got another, and got fired?

Realizing he was freaking out over nothing, René cleared his throat and set aside the now-clean cocktail shaker.

"What's it for?"

"Buddy of mine gets a tattoo every week. He's running low on ideas. I'm in charge of brainstorming." Lacus rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth pull up a bit, "Yay me."

"Oh? You're a tattoo artist?" René asked, but one of the older gentlemen down the bar taps his fingers against his glass, asking for another glass. He heard Lacus mutter something incoherent as he poured the man more saké, before turning around to face him again. Lacus had lifted his sketchbook up to show him the nearly-completed sketch, which reminded René of something a Satanist would wear.

"Whaddya think?" Lacus asked, pointing at the flame designs encircling it, "Too edgy, or…?"

"I think it's a bit dramatic," René said honestly, and nearly kicked himself for his tone coming across as rude until Lacus laughed.

"Shiro's a dramatic person. It's great, then."

"Do you just design the tattoos, or…?" René's voice trailed off as Lacus closed his sketchbook, seemingly happier than before.

"I do the actual inking stuff, too, but the design part is probably my favorite. We don't get a whole lot of customers, anyways," Lacus said, getting to his feet and stretching, "Why, were you interested in getting a tattoo?"

René paused from his action of taking Lacus's presumably abandoned glass, before nodding silently. Lacus whipped his phone out immediately, grinning.

"Aw, sweet, give me your phone number!" He held it out to René, who stared down at it, "Things will get a little more interesting if I get a customer more than once a week. Drop by sometime, alright? I'll text you tomorrow!"

"You want me to…?"

"Yeah, just drop your number in."

René stared blankly at the phone for a few more seconds before taking it. He had to pull out his own phone as well, not used to giving out his number and therefore feeling no actual need to memorize it. After placing his number in Lacus's phone, he handed it back to the purple-haired man, who's pen was now stuck behind his ear.

"Great!" Lacus beamed at René, who didn't know what to do back besides stare, "Man, I'm excited. Another customer, and he's the bartender, too. If I gave you a free tattoo, would you give me a free drink? Also, hey, could I have some potato skins to go?"