Hayden watched him go that first night. Shaking his head as he syarted to wipe the bar down. He had to shake it off, to keep to the plan of moving on. Even if he hadnât even a little bit. Not unless you counted drinking far to much with your brothers girlfriends best friend who was as straight as they come. No, moving on hadnt happened yet but it would eventually.
Or so he thought. He thought perhaps the other man had come by mistake, or gotten his fill the frist night. But then he was back, and again the night after that. By the fourth night Hayden finally made his drink for him. Not even listening to what his server had said rhe man wanted. He knew what he liked best. If he was going to keep showing up, Hayden felt he at least needed to make the drink for him. Still not giving in to anything more.
When a week past and Alton was still showing up Hayden caved slightly. He needed this to stop, it was making things difficult. So that night when Alton came in Hayden made him a drink and put it in the bar by his other usual spot. An invitation of sorts.
Originally posted by gabrielokun
Alton may be a patient man - patient to a fault he had been told in the past - but this was a test of his resolve if heâd ever been through one. He wasnât certain it would ever pay off, and he had even given himself a time frame. Two weeks. He would come in for two weeks, every night, not saying a word, and if nothing changed, he would disappear. At first, he had said just one. One week, and that would be that. After all, he had work to do. Sure, this had all stemmed from work in the first place, but he couldnât ignore his overtime needs completely for that long - but Alton had a point to prove. So he sat at the table, work free, and waited. But as the days passed, and there was no change from Hayden, his resolve wavered, and he gave himself an extension. Stoic and unshaken on the outside, completely nauseous on the inside - that was Alton.Â
On the fourth night, a drink came that he hadnât ordered. Heâd been ordering Stoli on the rocks with a twist - not his usual, and a completely strategic move. It was how he knew Hayden wasnât paying the least bit of attention to him. But that fourth night - that night, he had gotten an Old Fashioned, just the way he liked it. No cherry, no syrup, extra orange peel. Hayden had made it, he knew before he ever took a sip. This was progress, the first of many baby steps he would have to make, and he smiled very slightly into his glass as he sipped it, before again leaving without a word.
It was excruciating, the next few days. But a week to the day since the first night heâd shown up, his drink never arrived at his table. Was this it? The end? Was Hayden giving in only to give up? To get him to leave him alone? His heart clenched in his chest, as if in the grasp of icy, vice like fingers. He had come so close, he was sure of it. But as he glanced over at the bar, he noticed something he hadnât fully comprehended before. It wasnât just a drink at the end of the bar, it was his drink. In front of an empty stool - his empty stool. Just like that, his mood made a total turn around and he felt lighter than ever. This was what he had been waiting for.Â
Standing, heart still pounding, he straightened his jacket - black leather, instead of his normal suede - ran a hand through his hair, steeled his nerves, and made his way leisurely across the bar. He slid into the seat like it was an old friend, one dearly missed, and his fingers wrapped themselves around the glass, cradling it between both hands like it was the best gift he had ever been given. Which it may prove to be - was it an olive branch? A second chance? Only time would tell. Not wanting to push his luck too far, he didnât say anything, simply sat, happy to be this close to Hayden again. But he watched him still, not as close as before, eyes flitting to the other man now and again, drinking him in just as he drank his bourbon, both just as intoxicating as the other.