A bell chimed by the door when Ven stepped into the bar, but it was just about the only cheery thing about the place. The inside was gloomy and dingy, and the only light in here came from the outside. Ven doubted there was enough room for more than a dozen people to stand in here, but it was still no shock that there was no one at all—not even behind the bar. Then again, it was only seven at night. Maybe it was his fault for coming in so early.

It still beat being out there in that weather, which couldn't decide if it wanted to be snow or rain, but had left Ven wet, cold and miserable. Well, more miserable.

Just as he hesitated to go back out into the storm anyway, a voice came from the back. "We're open!" Moments later, a man came out from a door at the far end of the room, strolling in behind the bar and turning on a few lights as he did, though it did very little to shake off the gloomy atmosphere. "What can I get ya?" The barman had a shock of messy, black hair, a patterned red-and-black shirt tight across his chest, and a black waist apron, on which Ven was pretty sure a faded logo was embossed—probably the bar's, if Ven had to guess.

"Something strong," Ven said, sullen, as he plopped down on a stool at the bar.

The barman didn't ask any follow-up questions, apparently taking Ven's mood in stride. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and got to work. Ven watched him as he mixed Ven's drink, moving with the same energy as he spoke—quick and intense, but not exactly what Ven would describe as peppy. Which matched perfectly with how Ven felt right now. Plus, the sight of those arms wasn't something he'd deny himself right about now.

"Slow night?" Ven couldn't help but ask.

"I literally just started my shift. I wasn't expecting anyone to show up for at least an hour." He set down a large glass in front of Ven, filled to the brim with a golden-orange cocktail. "Hurricane. Thought it fit you somehow. And careful, it is really strong."

Ven took it greedily, and in spite of the warning, emptied more than half of the glass before he set it back down. It was sweet and tart, but after a second, Ven recognized the pleasant burn or rum lingering in his mouth. "It's perfect," he said. "Thanks, um—"

The barman looked down at himself, nonplussed, at tapped the nametag on his chest. It read the name Vanitas. "Memorize it quick. At your current pace, I'd say you won't know how to read within the hour."

"Bold of you to think that wouldn't make my evening," Ven retorted, then groaned at his own rudeness. "Sorry. You don't need to be on the receiving end of my bad mood. Thanks, Vanitas."

"Don't sweat it. And let's say it's on the house—first drink of the night."

Ven raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "This place doesn't look like you can afford to give away free drinks."

Vanitas only shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's not my bar. And the boss can deal." He paused, briefly looked around as if seeking something to busy himself with, then gave up and leaned against the bar. "Consider it a holiday present, if it makes it easier. Whatever you celebrate."

"Hurray," Ven said, deadpan. "Best present I got this year."

"Ah, of course. Home for the holidays?"

"Yep."

"Sorry to hear."

"Must be good for your business, at least."

Vanitas's face broke into a smirk. "True," he said simply. "But like I said, not my bar."

"Still, your boss couldn't hire you without customers."

"My boss is my dad. So believe me when I say, I completely get being driven insane by family."

"Shit. That is rough." Ven helped himself to his drink again, and found it empty when he set it down. "I'm gonna need another. And, you know, maybe I could buy you one too? Sounds like you could use it, and that way, at least I won't have reached 'drinking alone on Christmas' levels of pathetic."

Vanitas examined him silently for a second. "Only if you promise you won't turn into a sad drunk," he teased, but he started mixing drinks anyway—another Hurricane for Ven, and a much smaller shot glass filled with something dark for himself. Ven downed half of this second drink in the time it took Vanitas to drink his shot.

He was about to make a comment about the size of Vanitas's drink when his head filled with the buzz of alcohol, cutting him off just long enough for the door to open and the bell to chime again. A group of three friends came into the bar, and the sight of them made Ven's heart ache all over again. They took seats at the far end of the bar, and Vanitas moved away, first to start the jukebox, then to take their orders. Just long enough to remind Ven he was, in fact, alone, even if the barman was willing to drink with him one time. In the time it took Vanitas to get the orders ready, Ven's drink was alone again, and the night was still far too young.

"Can I have another one of these?" he called to Vanitas as soon as he was back behind the bar.

Vanitas eyed his empty glass with an air that was almost impressed. "I think the barman code of ethics says I have to refuse," he said sharply.

"Your job is to sell drinks. I'm buying you a drink. If you're refusing, then what even is the point of you?"

"Yeah, maybe I'm not very good at my job, but hey, not my bar, and my dad can't find anyone else who'll work in these conditions, so." He shrugged. "Who cares, right?"

Ven bared his teeth in an attempt to look threatening he was keenly aware was in vain. "Just give me a drink, Vanitas."

"I will," Vanitas said, "as soon as you tell me what's got you this desperate to get wasted in record time. Deal?"

"It's none of your—" Ven started, but he had no energy to argue. The buzz in his head was still nowhere near enough, so if it would get him a drink, he'd play along. "Like I said. Home for the holidays."

"I know sucky parents. Beyond mine, I see people with sucky parents every holiday season. You're on a whole other level, buddy."

"Ven." Vanitas raised an eyebrow, and Ven realized his reply didn't make much sense out of context. "My name. Ven. Short for Ventus."

Strangely enough, that made Vanitas smiled and resumed his stance, leaning against the bar. "Nice to meet you, Ventus. I'd offer you a drink, but"—he smirked, and Ven realized he maybe really liked that smirk—"we had a deal."

"My sort-of brother and sister got married," he said. Noticing the weird frown on Vanitas's face, he rushed to clarify, "I mean—we're not actually related or anything. They were always like my big brother and sister, and my dad took them in as teens, but—look, I promise that's not the real problem here. They're my best friends."

"O-kay," Vanitas simply said, and looked on, expectant.

"They couldn't make it back home this year, and being alone for Christmas Eve with Dad—wasn't great." It was an understatement, but it was all he could manage.

"That was yesterday, though. Why come in here now?"

"Couldn't find a bar that was still open?" Ven tried, but if he'd ever had a poker face, he was too drinks past being able to maintain it, and Vanitas didn't bother pretending he bought it. "I figured I'd reconnect with old friends today. From—before."

"Didn't go well, I take it."

"Nope." He paused, and stared at Vanitas, who sighed, but got the message anyway. However, instead of a third towering cocktail glass, Vanitas set a soft drink in front of him. "You know when I said 'another one', I—"

"I know what you mean," Vanitas said. "But if you won't pace yourself, someone has to do it for you. Let's say it's also on the house, so I'm not taking your money for something you didn't order, okay?"

Ven glared at him, but after a second, he was forced to acknowledge Vanitas's point—plus, he was thirsty. So he picked up the glass, and took a sip from it, feeling wonderfully refreshing after all the alcohol. "Thanks," he forced himself to say. Then, keeping his gaze on his drink, "Why are you being nice to me? Aren't you supposed to get me as drunk as possible and take advantage of me or something?"

"Yeah, I'm sure dear old Dad would say that I should. You look like you could blow some good money on drinks if I tried. But I won't." More customers came in, and Vanitas glanced at them, then back at Ven. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

His words sounded like a promise, and it was enough for Ven to watch him, half-stunned, as he moved to greet the new customers and take care of their orders. There was something hopelessly intriguing about watching him in motion; the force of his movements even as he did something as simple as clearing a table and carrying glasses back and forth looked at odds with the inherent softness Ven had glimpsed in his eyes in those last words. It made him a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

That, and the way his body pulled at the fabric of his shirt was nice to look at. Plus, seeing him in front of the bar, Ven could also look at the way his dark, washed-out jeans clung to his ass.

Just then, Vanitas turned around to return behind the bar, and his eyes landed on Ven. He smirked once more, and winked, and Ven was pretty sure if the alcohol hadn't already spread a blush to his cheeks, he was going to turn as bright red as Santa's coat right about now.

"I haven't had enough to drink to deal with this," he muttered to himself. So it was a surprise to see Vanitas place another glass in front of him, this one filled with foamy, light ale.

"You look like you could use that," Vanitas said, and with one look at the grin that still hadn't left his face, Ven considered leaving before he embarrassed himself any further. But by the looks of the latest arrivals, the weather outside had only gotten worse, and the bar was warm—or maybe it was the drinks. Or the way Vanitas's smirk made Ven feel.

Either way, Ven took the drink. "The thing is," he said, unprompted, "It is my fault. One of my friends—his sister—" he stopped, then figured that a barman's judgment couldn't be any worse than what he'd just faced. "There was an accident, and it was my fault. It ruined her life. I should have known my friend wouldn't have forgiven me."

"Did you—you know, apologize?"

"Of course I did!" Ven said, half-offended that Vanitas would even ask. "I apologized, and I did everything I could to help her! I would have done all that even if I hadn't been responsible!"

Vanitas let out a soft scoff. "Sounds like it's out of your hands, then."

"What?"

To Ven's surprise, Vanitas took out two shot glasses, and filled them both with that same dark liquor as before. He took one in his hand, and gave Ven the other, who silently accepted the offer, and drank along with Vanitas. The drink was bitter, with a spicy aftertaste that left Ven wanting another one, but he knew better than to ask. The buzzing in his head had only increased.

"It was a long time ago, right?" Vanitas asked, and Ven nodded quietly. "It sounded like it. Well, you know what? I was in and out of juvie as a teen. Bunch of different charges, including attempted murder." Ven couldn't hide the brief look of shock on his face, but if it bothered Vanitas, he didn't let it show. "I told everyone my dad forced me to, but he is such an upstanding member of the community, so." He shrugged. "Even now, there are regulars who know my shift schedule and only come to the bar when I'm not here. Even though it's my dad's bar, and he's the one responsible."

"That's—awful. Why do you still work here?"

"No one else was hiring. At least, like this, I can afford rent and stay out of his schemes. But you know what I learned from it all?"

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me to fuck 'em, or something like that," Ven retorted. "But—they're my friends. I can't not care."

"Allow this low bartender a little more nuance, please. Yeah, it's true that you don't choose what you care about. Tried that, didn't work."

"Your pep talk sucks. I think I need another drink just from listening to it."

Vanitas chuckled at his interruption. "You did everything you could to make amends—above and beyond, from what you say. You know what that means? It means you grew past that mistake. It's a different you—a past you. And if someone's still upset with you, then it means they never learned to move on from that past version of you. And that is on them."

He started mixing again, and it took Ven a moment to realize that he was making Ven that other drink after all. "So—what, I should say it's all his fault for not forgiving him?"

"No, blame doesn't help. What I'm saying is, you tried to reconnect. You tried to make amends, you gave him time. Maybe it's time to grieve that friendship. If you changed as a person, it's only normal that you don't stay friends with everyone who knew the old you."

He placed the cocktail—a third Hurricane—in front of Ven. Ven took it, but all he drank from it was a sip. "Well, I don't really feel better, even with the nuance."

"It's normal to feel sad when sad things happen."

"Yeah," Ven said. "I guess when you put it like that, it does make me feel a little less pathetic."

"Then my job here is done." Vanitas didn't sound as triumphant as his words made him out to be. "I had no one to tell me. Hang in there. And if you do need to get wasted, well, that's one way to cope with grief."

Ven grimaced. "I don't know why it sounded like a good idea. I've never even had this much to drink before." He paused. "So do you give that kind of advice to all the desperate guys who come here, or—"

Vanitas smirked again. "Only those who stare at my ass like you do." And just as Ven choked on his drink, he walked away, cackling as he went to take more orders.

Morning didn't greet Ven so much as it hit him in the face, and then, immediately after, the stomach. He opened bleary eyes to an empty bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. He was down to his underwear, but the clothes he'd worn to the bar were laid on a chair just off to the side. Not exactly neatly arranged, but not scattered across the floor, either.

Ven was woozy when he walked to the nearest door, and was relieved to find a bathroom, though he was realized after a second that he didn't feel sick—extremely hungover, but not sick. He took a minute to relieve himself and splash water on his face, which did little to help, then stepped back out into the bedroom.

Just then, the other door opened, and Vanitas stepped in, clad in a pair of black shorts and an oversized red t-shirt. At the sight of him, Ven felt the irrepressible—and vain—urge to cover himself.

"Hey," Vanitas greeted him without bother to hide the amusement in his tone.

"Oh my God," Ven said. "Did we—"

"Relax. You were too drunk to leave the bar last night. I just carried you upstairs with me. Seemed better than to send you back to your shitty family or your shitty friends."

Ven attempted a retort, but all he could do was bite his lip and stay silent, because, well, he didn't have a lot of room in his heart to defend them right now. "Um. Thanks, I think."

"I mean, if you want to—" Vanitas raised an eyebrow and smirked. Ven was pretty sure that smirk should be legally classified as a weapon. "Now that you're sober and all."

"I, um—" Ven cleared his throat, and instead of answering, dove for his clothes and started getting dressed, keeping his back to Vanitas. "I'm really hungover."

Behind him, Vanitas chuckled. "Fair," he said. And, okay, Ven was hungover, but he was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the slight disappointment in his tone.

"But, um—" He turned to Vanitas. "Do you have another shift tonight? Because maybe I could come back, and, like, not get so drunk I forget how I got here in the morning."

"I'm actually off today," Vanitas said. "But it doesn't mean we can't hang out."

"I kind of have to talk to my shitty friends and my shitty dad," Ven said. "Tell them they can accept the new me, or we'll part ways until they do." He smiled at Vanitas, hoping he'd understand. "But—after that?"

Slowly, Vanitas smiled back. "Actually—do you maybe need someone to cheer you on through all that?"

Ven frowned. He was a complete stranger, and he had to realize these conversations wouldn't be easy ones. Worst first date ever.

But hey, if he was willing to do that, maybe he was also the best first date ever.

"Sure," he said. "We should—"

"We should have breakfast first. You're not doing any of that hungover and on an empty stomach." He nodded to the door behind him. "Come on. I'm not as good a cook as I am a barman, but I know how to deal with hangovers."

He went out the door without waiting, and if Ven followed this eagerly, it was only partly because of the way his ass looked in those shorts.