Work Text:
The only good thing about waking up with a hangover is that it’s really easy to get drunk again. I heard someone call it “getting shampooed” one time, which I don’t really understand but I do think it’s a little funny.
My head is spinning when I sit up in bed. I still have my jeans on from last night; they’re the really tight ones with lots of rips all the way up the legs. There were definitely some guys looking at the rips by my thighs with interest last night but I ended up coming home alone. I rub my hands up and down the frayed fabric, trying to find some comfort in the shitty situation I find myself in way too often.
I lick my lips but it doesn’t do much good, my mouth is dry as hell and the only thing I have next to bed is a dusty pint glass. I think at one point it had water in it, but honestly, I haven’t been sleeping in my own bed that often. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stumble my way to the door. I pause, holding on to the door frame for support, trying to decide where to go next. I could go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, wipe off all the smeared eyeliner and mascara I’m positive is there, and start a new day. Or, I could go into the kitchen, mix a drink, then sit on the couch watching Love Island . It’s a tough decision on all accounts.
I decide on the bathroom because my bladder decides to give its two cents. In the end, I brush my teeth and take a shower. I want to pat myself on the back but then I notice how dirty my bathroom is. Okay, well it isn’t dirty, just more cluttered than anything. I clear off the counter of toothpaste stains, hair ties, and nail polish bottles, then open my beloved medicine cabinet and grab some Advil. My head still hurts despite the water I chugged before my shower and I know I’ll need a proper meal if I want to recover from this hangover properly. I also know my kitchen cabinets are pretty much empty.
After getting dressed in a “Oh my God, please let no one I know see me out today” outfit, I make my way towards my favorite Vietnamese restaurant. Thank God I woke up so late otherwise this place wouldn’t be open. When I go in, a little bell above the door rings and a petite woman in a red top seats me in a four person booth. I’m glad to have the space and even if it’s a little rude, I pop my feet on the bench across from me while I wait for her to come back.
When the waitress comes back I get a Diet Coke with lemon and another water for good measure. I also order pho with brisket and tripe (yeah, I know, it’s not everyone’s thing but it’s good, okay?). The woman nods, not writing anything down on the notepad she has in her hands.
I play on my phone while I wait, checking Instagram then Twitter. At some point my drinks show up and I sip on them mindlessly while I scroll. Then my phone dings with a text message. It’s Amber; she’s a coworker that knew Mason well but we were never too close. Mason was the only one I was close to at work. And now he’s gone so there’s no point in keeping the connection. I honestly think she just checks up on me as a last favor to Mason. I click on the message anyways: Hi Simon!! I hope you’re doing well! I miss seeing you around work 🥺 anyways me and Sarah and Fatou are going out for drinks tonight at a new bar that opened a little while ago and we were wondering if you wanted to come along? 😊 lmk!
I stare at the text for a minute, contemplating my options. I could ignore her, I could say no. I’m trying to figure out if she’s being genuine or if she’s just doing this out of pity even months after Mason has left. I’m weighing the pros and cons; I don’t really want to be alone the last rest of the night but I also don’t want these girls to see me get absolutely wasted which I’m wont to do…I text her back: hey amber I’d be down to go out tonight can I have the address and time?
Her message back is instantly popping up on my screen with even more excitement than the first one:
Simon, yay!!! It’ll be so great to hang out with you and the girls 🤩 we were gonna meet at 8 and the addy is 154 Willow St! See you laterrr! 🥰✨🤭
I try to find a way to be annoyed by her message or the fact that I’m considered “one of the girls” but I can’t. I kinda like being one of the girls, they’re nice girls, even if they’re inviting me out of pity.
I put my phone down and slurp on my pho, which is fucking delicious. Thinking back I’m not sure when the last full meal I had was. Maybe when someone dropped that DoorDashed burger off at my apartment by accident. That was on Tuesday and today is Saturday.
I sigh and finish my pho and soda. I have five hours to kill until I’m supposed to meet them. Red shirt comes back, takes my cash, and gives me an approving nod at her tip. I flash a smile and her cheeks heat up. I get a silent type of satisfaction in that.
I walk back to my apartment with my head down the entire way, still hoping not to see anyone I know. Once I’m in, I look around my apartment. It’s pretty rough looking. I let out a sigh and make a b-line to the fridge. I can have one drink while I tidy up the place, right? I’ll just sip it slowly. I find nothing, of fucking course. The cabinets are bare except for a peppermint liquor which I’m not feeling desperate enough to try to drink alone at the moment. I get myself a glass of water.
Connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker takes all of thirty seconds and then I’m left to figure out what the perfect vibes for cleaning your apartment when you wish you were actually blithering drunk are. Turns out it’s a mix of Dolly Parton and Fleetwood Mac.
I pull my hair out of the damp bun it was in just to tie it up a little tighter. I’ll have to blow dry it before heading out otherwise it’ll have a weird ass curl pattern until I wash it next. Huffing a sigh I decide to tackle the kitchen and living room first. They’re not too bad, but I definitely need to vacuum the floors and dust. I don’t know when the last time I did this was. Maybe before Mason left? I had him over for a farewell dinner and wanted the place to look sparkling; like maybe if the place looked clean he could trust me to take care of myself. I fucking can’t though. I’ve relapsed at least three times and I’m less of a functioning alcoholic and more of just an alcoholic nowadays.
After an hour in the living room I move through the rest of the apartment. My bedroom takes just as long. After vacuuming, changing the sheets, and putting away all the clothes sitting on the chair in the corner of my room, I push all the half full orange bottles into a corner of my dresser and call it a day.
I crash onto my bed and let out a yawn. I’m not really tired, but sometimes you just have to make a weird little noise, you know? Checking my phone lets me know I still have two hours before I’m supposed to meet with Amber, Sarah, and Fatou. I decide to scroll on my phone for a little while. Half my feed is Taylor Swift and the other half is bad takes on Taylor Swift. I throw my phone to the foot of the bed but then grab it again so I can plug it into the charger.
Getting off my bed, I pull my hair down for real this time and march into my bathroom. It smells a bit like bleach in here still but I ignore it in favor of plugging in my hair dryer and defusing my still slightly damp hair. When I’m satisfied with my curls I focus on my makeup. I decide on something simple for tonight, just smudged out eyeliner and some mascara.
Walking back to my room, I shed my shirt and sweats. My closet is a disorganized mess but hey, at least everything is hung up properly. I pull out a slightly sheer button up shirt and another pair of ripped up jeans. These ones aren’t as tight as the pair from last night but I’ll make do. Once I’m ready I sit on the bed; I look like that one meme of Tiffany Pollard. I look up how far the bar is from my house and if I can walk or if I’ll need an Uber. Turns out, I can walk and there is another bar between my place and this one. I can make a stop there after I see the girls, I figure.
The walk to the bar was cold, but I would rather that than carrying around a jacket for the night. I get to the bar on Willow Street about 10 minutes before Amber said she would be here. It’s a really cute bar, decorated with a dark palm tree wallpaper and Edison light bulbs.
I slink down the hallway to where the actual bar is and order myself a drink. There are two bartenders: a tall woman with braids going down to her waist and a ton of gold jewelry on her face and ears, and a man about her same height with a thick waist and 5 o’clock shadow. I watch him for a while before trying to get either of their attention. His arms look strong as hell and watching him shake the cocktail maker is a treat. He catches me looking at him and quirks an eyebrow. I smile, flashing my teeth at him.
What’s fun is that he looks taken aback, like he’s surprised anyone would be interested in him. Even in the dark light of the bar I can see that his cheeks are flushed. I might be playing the long game tonight, but we will be going home together. I can nearly guarantee it.
After a moment he finishes the drink and makes his way towards me.
“What can I get for you tonight?” He asks. Oh fuck, he’s all business.
“Hey, can I get a mojito, maybe?” I reply, opting for a comfort drink.
The man tilts his head like a cute, confused puppy then frowns. “I think we’re out of mint already,” he says, talking a little louder now. The music in the bar has picked up a bit.
Now that I can’t get a mojito I promptly forget every other mixed drink I could get. Some alcoholic, huh?
“How about an Old Fashion, then?” I ask, giving it a full send. The man just nods and walks away.
So this isn’t going the way I want it too. I could easily back off, we don’t know each other at all, he doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t think I want to though.
When he comes back I give him a smile, and say thank you, before handing my card over. I start a tab and give him a wink before finding a table that will fit all of us.
I play on my phone while I wait, toying with searching up Mason online just to see if he’s posted anything new. I go to take the final sip of my Old Fashioned when I hear the happy peals of a shrill voice calling my name.
Amber, Sarah, and Fatou stroll up to the table dressed to the nines. Three sets of eyeliner, sequins, and pleather in heels attack me with hugs. Which, I'm happy to return, but when my eyes flash over to the bar I can see the man watching us. I can’t help but smile.
After a moment we take a seat, and the girls browse the specialty cocktail menu. They chat idely asking each other what they're thinking of having, what I already had, and questioning ingredients. It’s cute honestly, and for a moment I’m genuinely glad to be here with them.
Finally, the girls decide on their drinks and we make our way back to the bar. Thankfully the woman is busy, so the striking man comes over again. Hopefully, all the girls that are clearly not interested in me help him get the message.
When it’s my time to order again I remind him of my tab.
“Uh, it’s on Simon,” I say.
“Hi, Simon,” he says, returning my smile. “Are you all out for a girls' night?”
I laugh, hoping that’s not a dig at me. He seems relieved with my response and opens my tab on his screen.
“Well, you told me who you are, but what am I getting ya?”
I want to say a lot of things, like his name, or his number, or his body. Instead I go with, “Could I just do another Old Fashioned? That last one was perfect.”
He is nodding eagerly as I talk, “Oh, sure thing! I’m glad you like it. It’s a new bourbon we just got in. Good, right?”
“Yeah, for su-”
Then Amber is sliding up to my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and squeezing. “Oh, Simon, who is this?” she asks, using what height she has to reach my ear. Her appearance makes me aware of how close we are now; me and the bartender had been leaning closer and closer to each other to talk over the music.
Without missing a beat, I give her a sly smile. “You know, I’m not sure…” I trail off, letting the man answer.
“I’m Ethan,” he answers, although he seems to be trying to make himself smaller now that Amber’s here.
“Hi, Ethan! Just wanted to say that the girls and I are gonna sit down again, can you have sweet Simon bring our drinks over?” She asks, giving him a beaming smile. And then, before he can even answer, “Awesome, thanks!”
Ethan watches with his mouth forming a small “O” as Amber walks away, her hips and hair swinging. Then he lets out a small laugh and my chest warms like it did with the first sip of bourbon earlier.
“She’s a fun one…are you guys together?” Ethan asks. I don’t see him when he asks, but I think his voice sounds hopeful for a no.
I turn back to him, “Oh, no. Just good friends. I love women, but not like that.” I think if I was in a romance novel my eyes would be alight with playfulness or something, but really I think I’m just looking at him like the Miley Cyrus blue eyes meme.
Either way, Ethan smiles at my response and blinks a few times. Then, he pushes up the sleeves that are already perfectly tight on his arms and says, “I’m gonna get started on your drinks. Don’t want to disappoint the girls.”
He turns away before I can respond so I stand with my back leaning against the bar. It has filled up a bit more since I’ve been here and music is balanced well with the chatter of the crowd and the clinking of glasses and silverware. Peering around, most people are seated at high top tables with small candles in the middle. Around the corners of the room are some lounge chairs which are mostly empty at the moment, although some couples seem to be sitting quite intimately for a public space. There’s a little square of what you could call a dance floor towards the center of the bar which is brightly lit and surprisingly full of people for how early it still is.
A few moments pass as I watch the crowds wind in and around each other. I wish I was out there now. Dancing without a care, and enjoying the feeling of some strangers hands on you. Not caring who is feeling you up and down as the music pounds through your bloodstream is addicting. I would know.
There’s a quick tap on my shoulder and heat reaches through my thin shirt to my skin. The touch is kind and electrifying.
When I face him again, Ethan is pushing a tray over to me from across the bar. It’s full of the girls' pretty drinks and my Old Fashioned.There’s also a note folded up and tucked under my glass. Ethan looks like he wants to say something, but he’s spent too long on me and other customers and lined up around the bar now. He blushes and nods his head before turning away.
I have butterflies in my stomach as I walk back over to our table. I’ve done this before, with tens of guys, at Starbucks, the archives, the clubs, bars, and parties I’ve attended. It’s not a new feeling, but it’s always an exciting one.
I set the tray down on the table and girl’s all cheer for it, pulling their phones out for snaps and Instagram stories before drinking. Fatou is the one to notice the note.
“Oh, Simon! What is this?” She picks up the paper and opens it, mouth dropping and excitement in her eyes. “I can’t believe it! We’ve only been here 15 minutes and you already got someone's number!”
I can feel my cheeks heat up like some silly school boy and not a 29 year old man. I hung out with these girls when I was with Mason too, and never shied away from the fact that we were in a relationship. Instead of concentrating on the feelings the teasing brings up, I grab the slip of paper from her hands. Fatou laughs as she acquiesces and picks up her drink with her newly freed hand. Looking at the paper, I read Ethan’s scribbled note: I’m not off until 2, text me sometime! (801)555-2879 . My face breaks into a grin.
We end up bar hopping.
Later, I fall into my bed like a sack of bricks. I’m well and drunk, which is exactly what I wanted, and I’m having a hard time figuring out what to do with the blankets I’m laying on top of. Eventually, I get my pants and shirt off and my blankets on top of me. I lay in bed for a bit before the cold sheets annoy me and I end up rubbing my legs together like a cricket and my feet like I’m trying to start a fire.
For a moment my mind stops swimming and I remember the piece of paper I have in my jeans pockets. I halfway crawl off my bed, my legs anchoring me to my mattress. I dig through the pockets until I can find it: Ethan’s number.
I’m too drunk to ask him over even though I want to desperately. It takes me about three tries to type his number in my phone correctly but I finally do it. I think if I wasn’t drunk I wouldn’t be so bold with my message to him. Hi, it’s Simon from the bar. Brunch tomorrow?
You can’t fault me, I’m gay.
After I send the text I snuggle back into my blanket nest and fall asleep. I want to say I dreamed of something sweet, like holding his hand and feeding each other eclairs or something but I was conked out.
When I wake up though, I have a text. Well honestly, I have a dozen from the girls, and pictures from our pub crawl. But one stands out the most, it’s from Ethan, obviously. And it just says: Yes!