I DON'T WANNA FEEL.

Monica got on her ass again for not contacting her immediately after her job was completed, Hannah had to go home and change from ruining her nice outfit with blood splatter, and her body still has the unfortunate aches from being shoved into that wall earlier today. The guy got pissy before she eventually killed him.

But look at her now. Sitting at a nice bar, in nicer clothes, and giving the bartender a nice smile when she orders another drink. She's feeling absolutely great... yeah.

She's also beyond shitfaced but that's besides the point. The point is, she's bored. Tremendously, and no one in here seems to catch her eye. She leans back in her seat with a heavy sigh; how unfortunate. There is one number belonging to a certain someone, one her inebriated mind is surprised to know she remembers.

Her phone rings, an annoying chime that drills into her head and only gives her momentary relief in between those brief pauses, but a smile spreads onto her face when she hears it's been answered and her voice makes that very aware.

"Heyyyy, crooner. What took ya so long ta answer?" Her voice is laced with her own grin, and she wanders from the bar counter to the unoccupied couch on the other side of the room, pushing through her own double vision as she sprawls out across it. "Am I not 'hot redhead' on your phone or something? But– listen, got something super super important to tell you. Listen ta what the bar 's playin' right now."

The phone sounds like it shifts before the music is playing more clearly now, the lyrics coming through.

"You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl. I wish that I had Jessie's girl. Where can I find a woman like that?"

"Crazy stuff, right?" Hannah's back with the phone to her ear, clearing her throat and getting right back into her talking. "'Minds me of that night. I swear no one gives two shits 'bout anyone who performs there. You should'a asked for a– a bonus or whatever. Guy who manages the joint's kinda a dick. Could'a killed him for ya... oops, wait, can't say that.

...You kinda look like you could crush a watermelon with your arms, 'n that's weirdly hot. Have you seen those videos? I'd pay to see that 'n person."

@perfectly-intoxicated

After another dud of a gig, Lach wasn't particularly in the best of spirits.

It wasn't like he'd be walking away with nothing he was legally required to be paid after all. But for such a small amount of money, he probably would've had better luck sitting on the street corner and playing for random people.

Now at his apartment, trying to decompress, a phone call isn't exactly on the top of his list of things to experience. But, seeing as he had nothing else to do, and couldn't fall asleep, he figured what harm would it do to answer?

"Hello?"

He wasn't expecting to be met with a very clearly not sober Hannah. It was almost comical how drunk she sounded. He could see the grin in front of him right now, though the rest of her face was a bit of a blur. It's been a minute since he'd seen her... Made him wonder why, out of all people, she'd call him.

"Unfortunately, despite how attractive you are, you're just Hannah on my phone. Sorry to disappoint." He humors, before listening to what she was trying to show. Jessie's Girl, the song that he'd played for her when they met. The song he'd dedicated to her. Quite the coincidence.

"Well, y'know, I can't exactly afford to be picky. Gotta eat, gotta pay rent, gotta live. But... Yeah, that guy was a dick. Not murder level, but not nice." Though had he not played in that shitty bar, he would've never met her. Wouldn't be laying in his bed, talking on the phone with her.

Before he can get even more contemplative though, she shocks him right to his core. That was certainly blunt. But she didn't seem like the kind of person to beat around the bush when she was sober. This was a privilege to see what little filter she had be removed.

Hannah’s head hangs off from the armrest of the couch, just enough to catch glimpses of people who walk in and out with a variety of sobriety. “If— if you open ‘n OnlyFans, I reserve the right ta a percen’age of what you make. I gave you the idea, after all… or maybe I could jus’ be there ‘n person for all the action.”

In her current state, she wouldn’t realize that the action she’s currently thinking of might be different from Lach’s own. “I swear ‘m a great director. Or I could be. I could help with clean up.”

…Her version of clean up is also very different.

He genuinely considers the offer held in front of him. He was very comfortable in his bed. Was it really worth changing back out of his sweats just to possibly get blackout drunk again?

“Come ooon, you wouldn’ leave ‘n unassuming lady to fend for herself, would you? What if I wander out ‘nto the street ‘n… get kidnapped? ‘m very much what a kidnapper would look for. What if I get stopped by a Mormon?”

"Oh, whatever. Like anyone would want you stumbling around all over the place." He tries to keep his voice light, but it would be a lie to say that the idea of her being snatched up didn't make him move a tad bit faster.

She’d rather not go into that experience right now.

“Hold on, lemme check.” Hannah gets to her feet, stumbling as she does so and knocking over something that she can’t quite make out. Still, there’s a muffled apology from her end as she feels along the wall towards the double doors. The ring of the bells above it irritates her.

"Got it. Just please keep you and your meatballs inside the bar 'til I get there." Tossing on some jeans, he heeds her warning and brings a jacket with him, practically running out the door so that Hannah wouldn't get the opportunity to leave without him. He decides to ditch driving. If he was gonna be drinking, the last thing he needed was to lose his keys. Or die, whichever was worse.

She plops down at one of the seats at the bar counter, waving the guy over with an extra nice smile when she puts their order in. From the corner of her eye, there’s the confirmed speculation of the bartender throwing glances her way. Poor guy, thought he had a chance.

"Yeah, sure, I have a soft spot for you. Whatever makes you sit down and not get kidnapped." He tries to sound like he doesn't care that much. But the unfortunate truth was that he did care. Very much. Call him a big softie.

He can hear her placing the order past the wind blowing by. Which thankfully means that she was sat and not going anywhere. "And so what if I am running? Acting like you're not the one that told me to get there or else you'd be snatched."

Welp. Anyway.

"Besides, don' forget. I still have time t' be convinced into Mormonism. I can almost see the dress shirts n' ties from here... you'd look good 'n a dress shirt 'n tie. You should send me a picture if you ever wear 'em. Maybe I'd return the favor." Her last statement is a low purr, something that could've been more seductive if some other drunk ass hadn't shoved into her from behind. At least when she got drunk, she took it slow.

Before he can even come up with a witty little comeback to her flirts, he can hear her shouting at someone. And can vaguely make out the responses back. Damnit, he really should've done some cardio last week... He feels so slow.

"Hannah, I swear, you better not be getting into a fight. I'm a few blocks away, don't be stupid." That was the last thing he wanted right now. He didn't want to have to break anything up, and even if it did come down to it, he didn't even have his hands taped up or anything. How ill prepared of him.

Upon mentioning the ‘other guy’, she sounds as if she turns away from her phone and directs the insult to someone further away from her and then returns to her own business. Lucky for him, his friends are starting to drag the guy away. Whatever.

"I'm practically here already. Don't touch my food." That's all he gives her before hanging up the call, and booking it the last few turns. The sign for the place is a refuge of sorts. And not to pay himself on the back, but it looked like his cardio training paid off.

He's a bit of a mess, with a red flush on his face, tussled hair, and shaky hands after realizing just how fucking cold he was. But he was here. Which meant that he'd done good. Now all he had to do was find Hannah, which wasn't hard at all considering that there was only one redhead woman in the bar.

Water. The bartender shakes his head in her direction when she looks to him. Well fuck. She sets the water back down and takes a bite of her own order of meatballs.

Mid-chew on her own treat, she looks towards the direction of the doors opening and grins once she's swallowed and realized it's Lach looking sweaty and flushed in the doorway, and oh, she likes the look of him like that, and she can't help but shamelessly give him a once over...

Taking the glass, he manages to chug half of his drink in one go. It tastes like trash, and has a nice burn to it, which means it's good. Damn near slamming the glass down on the counter, he finally had enough of himself gathered to look at her. Though it seemed as if she was focused on something else of his.

And maybe he flexes his bicep for her. Just to show off a bit.

Irrationally, yes, but she hates admitting sappy shit like that or even just letting the uncontrollable thought cross her mind. She didn't invite him just to think about cute smiles. She didn't want to be a sad drunk, so she invited him to not be alone. And maybe fuck afterwards if the universe is kind to her tonight.

"Are you kiddin'? My mind 's alive. 'M more awake than anyone else could ever be or... ever has been." The soft silk of her gloved hand pulls down on the sleeve of his shirt absentmindedly as she speaks, watching the material of his shirt cling to his bicep before eventually letting go.

It seems as if his company had found something to fidget with, as he watches Hannah mess around with his sleeve. He hadn't gone too extra tonight, opting for a boring white tee. But given how she couldn't keep her hands off his muscles, maybe that was the right move.

"Prove it? Now?" He'd just gotten done with cardio, and now she wanted to move right into weights? She would make a terrible personal trainer. And the worst part was that he actually wanted to do it. Whether it was out of pride, or just him trying to show off... Well, that was up for interpretation.

He does just as she was hoping he would, and she’s not conscious enough of her own self-perception to do anything about her excited grin. Holding onto the counter as she slides off her seat, she finds stability in order to not sway as evidently as she had been previously before Lach got here.

When she's standing, he can't help but look at her. Damn, she was pretty. He didn't come here to stare at her, he came here to drink. And he knew that she was drunk. But that dress she was in... She looked beautiful. And he felt lucky to see her in it.

"Nope. Just stand right there."

Getting closer to her, he places his hands on her waist. They're rough, years on years of playing anything with a string having done its damage on his fingers. Yet he's still as gentle as he can be.

So yeah, she can tell when Lach decides to really look at her once she’s stood up, but the way he does it is… strange. Not what she expects. And the hands on her waist are gentle.

…Huh.

As careful as ever, Lach puts Hannah back down on the floor, giving her a smile and a wink. "I'll remember that." Might come in handy soon if she decides to get into another altercation.

His hands stay on her waist for a second too long, and once he realizes, he quickly lets her go. Sitting back down, he takes another sip of his drink.

Unable to resist his temptations any longer, Lach steals one of the meatballs from Hannah's plate, and pops it into his mouth. She wasn't lying, these things were good. The closest thing he'd be getting to a steak at this hour.

"I guess you could say that... To be fair, I wasn't expecting to see you again. So this is a pleasant surprise." He says. It's true, he wasn't expecting Hannah to call him at all. After all, he was just a random musician she'd met on a random night. Giving her his number was a long shot, and he doubted she would've called him if she was sober. It was strange, how this had fallen into place.

At Lach’s comment about her call being a surprise, her brows furrow in confusion and the first expression other than a drunk, content smile crosses her face. “Uh… why would that be a surprise? You interest me. Or were you hoping I wouldn’t call?”

Her next sentiment makes him hurt though. It's not that he didn't want her to call. Far from it actually. He was hoping that she would at least shoot him a text for something. A branch to try and grab onto. But this... Wasn't exactly how he wanted it to go.

He sounded like an ass. He knew he did. But the circumstances for if she reached him were a little more ideal in his head.

"No, no, far from it. It's just... You're super drunk. And I'm probably gonna get super drunk..."

Even if she were bone-dry sober, comfort isn’t exactly her biggest strength. Isn’t that what he’s looking for right now? Suddenly words are… hard as fuck to think of right now. Would she have called him if she was sober? Sure, well. Eventually. It’s not her fault she’s been. Busy.

“…Yeah, well. That happens when you drink.” Hannah tries to make her voice sound less slurred with her words than they did before they started this conversation, shifting in her seat. “I mean, do you not wanna… be here or something?”

"No! I do want to be here, trust me! It's just... I don't know, maybe I wish it was different. Something that won't be blurry later, y'know?" He could've taken her out properly. Could've been able to wear something nicer so that it didn't look like she was going out with a guy off the street. Could've taken her out to dinner. Maybe a nice cocktail bar. With those steak cuts that would've left him wondering how he was gonna pay rent. But he would've done it if she would've asked.

So many maybe's... And yet, none of them would happen. Because this was here and now. And he was killing the mood with his contemplative silence.

"But I guess now isn't the time for all that, am I right?" He says, sitting up and snapping himself out of his depressing mind. Hannah didn't call him here to dampen her mood. So who was he to do such?

Lach keeps talking and Hannah keeps feeling— wrong. Why is he talking like that? What does he mean? What does it mean?

Different, blurry. Blurry stands out to her. Isn’t that the… the fun of hooking up? The mystery? The uncertainty? The endless questions afterwards? Why would he want her to remember this, why would he want to remember her? Remembering is painful. Remembering leads to realizing and realizing means to uncover something, and uncovering too much wouldn’t be good. Not for her, not for anyone. She— she—

She needs an actual drink. For the toast. The one Lach’s doing.

Bad news is that the way she decided to do it was with hopping over the bar.

Oh god, he could hear his brother in his ear right now. 'The bar is a sacred place, Lach. Patrons stay on that side, I stay on this side, and we mutually agree that that line shall not be crossed!' Wesley would be livid right now if he knew he was out with a jumper.

Except it doesn’t seem like she’s making a Greyhound. She’s making something with what she’s already retrieved plus absinthe, gin, and blackberry liqueur. It was definitely strong. If she was only going to allow herself one more drink, she might as well make it worth it. She was already starting to feel sober again.

And now she's forcing him to drink it. Now, here's the thing. He's allowed to say no. After all, it's his body, and he decides what dangerous potions to consume. However, the thing is, his mother didn't raise a little bitch.

Taking a deep breath, Lach brings the glass to his lips, and takes a small sip. If regret had a taste, he's pretty sure that it would taste similar to this. It burns his tongue on impact, and a cacophony of unbearable flavors accompanied it. Blackberries and gin and vodka and whatever the fuck else was in that cup.

“…Y’know you weren’t supposed to drink that one, right? That one’s mine.” Hannah reaches for the cup in the midst of Lach’s clear suffering, unable to resist her chuckle towards the end of her sentence. “I appreciate you trying though, even if you did hate it. It’s sweet.”

Once he's over his wincing, he gladly sets the drink back down. "Oh thank God." He says in relief. If she planned on drinking that, then maybe he'd be forced to carry her out of here. Maybe it was her grand plan all along. Considering how obsessed she'd become with his arms, she probably wouldn't mind.

"Uhm..." He never really went outside the usual 'Several beers' method of drinking, so he was a bit lost. Even with all the explanations his sibling gave him. Think... There were a bunch of random things he'd been told... Uh...

Hannah's eyes flit over the space in front and behind her in search of that signature copper mug, reaching for the vodka and ginger beer along with the lime in the meantime. "So, when'll I get to hear you sing again?"

"Depends. I'm searching for my next gig right now, so hopefully soon." It was hard, especially when he couldn't play one of the most 'perform at our place!' instruments in the piano. He'd tried learning so many times, but for some reason, he could never get his hands to cooperate, and the keys got so jumbled and it was just... Hard. He could keep track of 6 strings, and 20 frets, but 88 keys was hell.

He pops another meatball into his mouth.

"I don't see why not." Hannah slides the drink over to Lach and leans forward on the counter to wait until he's taken a swig of the drink, circling the rim of her own glass currently in front of her. "I promise I won't get drunk if you book a gig here... well, not too drunk, at least. An acceptable amount."

"I'll hold you to it then." Taking the copper cup, he's less hesitant to take the first sip than before. The taste is tangy, a little sweet, and that ginger packs a punch. But it's a lot more tolerable than that... Thing. And hey, beer. Good in his book.

Wouldn't that be something? A change of career and life for a night. Maybe if her life didn't go the way it did, she would be doing this for a living. Paid just about a little more than your average wage, living in some apartment nearby and falling into comfortable routines. In some world, maybe she would've liked it.

In this one though, it sounded like a cage to circle around in endlessly.

It was weird, wanting Hannah in his life like this. She was so... Ambitious. An attitude that said that it was her way or the highway. He didn't even really know her all too well, but he wanted to. If he was allowed to.

Her hand brings the glass to her lips, ready to take another swig of her boss battle of a drink before Lach surprises her another time. Huh. How does she describe what she’s been doing without simultaneously convincing him to call the cops on her?

This has felt surprisingly lucky on their part. The last thing they needed was for their luck to run out. Or, in the worst case, the cops pulling up.

A heavy sigh leaves her as she rethinks the events of her day upon processing his question, wondering just how much information she wants to share with him and how she would go about adjusting the truth as she went along doing so. "A bit of both. I deal with assholes on the regular, but this one today was just... fuck. The absolute worst."

"Well hey, that's a plus, isn't it? One less P.O.S to worry about." He cheers to that, taking another sip. "Yeah, people can be real assholes... See it all the time when I'm performing. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt though. Never know what someone else can be going through, y'know?"

Is it an excuse for them to throw glass bottles at him, or shout obscenities when he isn't playing the exact song they want? No, of course not. But there had to be a reason for everything. If not, then fate had been a real asshole to him until recently.

"You're too nice, y'know." She muses, fingers thrumming against the counter beneath them. "If someone gives me shit, I don't give 'em the time of day. It's no excuse to dump your bullshit on someone just 'cause you're having a rough time."

What an ironic thing to say is her own impulsive thought, one she does't linger on. "Honestly? Not a clue. Probably pass out somewhere and wake up in a city hundreds of miles away... that's a joke, by the way." Unfortunately, her humor could be a bit cut and dry. And concerning.

Her attempt at humor is enough to make him raise a brow. "Please don't. But, uh... I don't want you driving, if you even did drive here. My place isn't too far, a few blocks. If you want, uh..." His voice trails off. Even with literal liquid courage, he still didn't have the guts to ask her. Maybe he just wasn't drunk enough.

He takes another sip in an attempt to fix that problem. It does little to help.

At least she doesn't have to think on it for too long, not when Lach's words are stumbling over themselves in an attempt to ask her back to his place. Hannah finds herself leaning forward more against the countertop, enough where she's just a little closer to Lach than she was before.

"You're really sweet, hon." Hannah's smiles takes a shift into something else as she lowers her voice for just the two of them to hear. "...Would we be doing anything else at this place of yours–?"

"Hey! You can't be back there!"

A voice calls from the other end from behind the bar who, upon diverting her attention to the general direction of the sound, turns out to be the bartender. Who's still on the phone, mind you, shushing his girlfriend while he tries to play it tough. She can feel the eyeroll starting.

"Excuse me, I just made your life easier, asshole.” Hannah turns to face him with the intention of being fully prepared to get into another dispute, mostly fueled by the alcohol in her system. “Maybe do your job next time instead of crying to your girlfriend. Yeah, I heard you. ‘Just a friend’ my ass. Don’t forgive him, hon!”

The bartender sputters and flushes with embarrassment as she sends her little warning, glaring at her while all she does is send a sarcastic smile. He’s lucky she’s got company tonight.

“Wh— mind your business, bitch! I’m calling the cops on your ass!”

Whoops.

“Well. Looks like that’s our cue.” Hannah slides back over the counter to Lach’s side when the bartender turns his back to presumably dial the police, straightening out her dress and rummaging through her purse for her wallet. She tosses down what she’s pretty sure is a Benjamin; it’s about the only thing she carries in her wallet anyway.

At least she has the courtesy to leave some money for the guy. Though he doesn't think it's anywhere near enough for the amount of alcohol they'd drank. Hell, probably not even enough for Hannah herself. But he doesn't have the luxury of being able to worry about that right now.

He gives her a look, both of confusion and a slight bit angry she got them in this situation, before pulling out his own wallet and throwing a small handful of bills on the counter. He didn't know what bills, but hopefully it was good enough

"Fucking hell..." Popping a few meatballs into his mouth, he grabs Hannah's hand and flees the scene. Hopefully she was sober enough to run away.

“Don’t blame me, blame the cheater back there!” Although she would’ve wanted to sound a bit more on the serious side, she can’t bring herself to muster up the strength for it. Especially not when Lach’s mouth is still full of the food he crammed at the last second.

Recognizing the street, Hannah pulls on Lach’s hand and starts pulling them towards an empty alley. “This way!” She exclaims, resting her back against the wall and pulling Lach closer right as she hears the guy come out with a frustrated groan along with who she assumes to be a coworker.

“Dude, just leave it. It ain’t worth it.”

“That fuckin’ bitch. Let me see her around here again, I swear man. She’ll learn to mind her own damn business. It’s always the crazy ones.”

Crazy. She takes offense to that.

Monica got on her ass again for not contacting her immediately after her job was completed, Hannah had to go home and change from ruining her nice outfit with blood splatter, and her body still has the unfortunate aches from being shoved into that wall earlier today. The guy got pissy before she eventually killed him.

But look at her now. Sitting at a nice bar, in nicer clothes, and giving the bartender a nice smile when she orders another drink. She's feeling absolutely great... yeah.

She's also beyond shitfaced but that's besides the point. The point is, she's bored. Tremendously, and no one in here seems to catch her eye. She leans back in her seat with a heavy sigh; how unfortunate. There is one number belonging to a certain someone, one her inebriated mind is surprised to know she remembers.

Her phone rings, an annoying chime that drills into her head and only gives her momentary relief in between those brief pauses, but a smile spreads onto her face when she hears it's been answered and her voice makes that very aware.

"Heyyyy, crooner. What took ya so long ta answer?" Her voice is laced with her own grin, and she wanders from the bar counter to the unoccupied couch on the other side of the room, pushing through her own double vision as she sprawls out across it. "Am I not 'hot redhead' on your phone or something? But– listen, got something super super important to tell you. Listen ta what the bar 's playin' right now."

The phone sounds like it shifts before the music is playing more clearly now, the lyrics coming through.

"You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl. I wish that I had Jessie's girl. Where can I find a woman like that?"

"Crazy stuff, right?" Hannah's back with the phone to her ear, clearing her throat and getting right back into her talking. "'Minds me of that night. I swear no one gives two shits 'bout anyone who performs there. You should'a asked for a– a bonus or whatever. Guy who manages the joint's kinda a dick. Could'a killed him for ya... oops, wait, can't say that.

...You kinda look like you could crush a watermelon with your arms, 'n that's weirdly hot. Have you seen those videos? I'd pay to see that 'n person."

@perfectly-intoxicated

After another dud of a gig, Lach wasn't particularly in the best of spirits.

It wasn't like he'd be walking away with nothing he was legally required to be paid after all. But for such a small amount of money, he probably would've had better luck sitting on the street corner and playing for random people.

Now at his apartment, trying to decompress, a phone call isn't exactly on the top of his list of things to experience. But, seeing as he had nothing else to do, and couldn't fall asleep, he figured what harm would it do to answer?

"Hello?"

He wasn't expecting to be met with a very clearly not sober Hannah. It was almost comical how drunk she sounded. He could see the grin in front of him right now, though the rest of her face was a bit of a blur. It's been a minute since he'd seen her... Made him wonder why, out of all people, she'd call him.

"Unfortunately, despite how attractive you are, you're just Hannah on my phone. Sorry to disappoint." He humors, before listening to what she was trying to show. Jessie's Girl, the song that he'd played for her when they met. The song he'd dedicated to her. Quite the coincidence.

"Well, y'know, I can't exactly afford to be picky. Gotta eat, gotta pay rent, gotta live. But... Yeah, that guy was a dick. Not murder level, but not nice." Though had he not played in that shitty bar, he would've never met her. Wouldn't be laying in his bed, talking on the phone with her.

Before he can get even more contemplative though, she shocks him right to his core. That was certainly blunt. But she didn't seem like the kind of person to beat around the bush when she was sober. This was a privilege to see what little filter she had be removed.

Hannah’s head hangs off from the armrest of the couch, just enough to catch glimpses of people who walk in and out with a variety of sobriety. “If— if you open ‘n OnlyFans, I reserve the right ta a percen’age of what you make. I gave you the idea, after all… or maybe I could jus’ be there ‘n person for all the action.”

In her current state, she wouldn’t realize that the action she’s currently thinking of might be different from Lach’s own. “I swear ‘m a great director. Or I could be. I could help with clean up.”

…Her version of clean up is also very different.

He genuinely considers the offer held in front of him. He was very comfortable in his bed. Was it really worth changing back out of his sweats just to possibly get blackout drunk again?

“Come ooon, you wouldn’ leave ‘n unassuming lady to fend for herself, would you? What if I wander out ‘nto the street ‘n… get kidnapped? ‘m very much what a kidnapper would look for. What if I get stopped by a Mormon?”

"Oh, whatever. Like anyone would want you stumbling around all over the place." He tries to keep his voice light, but it would be a lie to say that the idea of her being snatched up didn't make him move a tad bit faster.

She’d rather not go into that experience right now.

“Hold on, lemme check.” Hannah gets to her feet, stumbling as she does so and knocking over something that she can’t quite make out. Still, there’s a muffled apology from her end as she feels along the wall towards the double doors. The ring of the bells above it irritates her.

"Got it. Just please keep you and your meatballs inside the bar 'til I get there." Tossing on some jeans, he heeds her warning and brings a jacket with him, practically running out the door so that Hannah wouldn't get the opportunity to leave without him. He decides to ditch driving. If he was gonna be drinking, the last thing he needed was to lose his keys. Or die, whichever was worse.

She plops down at one of the seats at the bar counter, waving the guy over with an extra nice smile when she puts their order in. From the corner of her eye, there’s the confirmed speculation of the bartender throwing glances her way. Poor guy, thought he had a chance.

"Yeah, sure, I have a soft spot for you. Whatever makes you sit down and not get kidnapped." He tries to sound like he doesn't care that much. But the unfortunate truth was that he did care. Very much. Call him a big softie.

He can hear her placing the order past the wind blowing by. Which thankfully means that she was sat and not going anywhere. "And so what if I am running? Acting like you're not the one that told me to get there or else you'd be snatched."

Welp. Anyway.

"Besides, don' forget. I still have time t' be convinced into Mormonism. I can almost see the dress shirts n' ties from here... you'd look good 'n a dress shirt 'n tie. You should send me a picture if you ever wear 'em. Maybe I'd return the favor." Her last statement is a low purr, something that could've been more seductive if some other drunk ass hadn't shoved into her from behind. At least when she got drunk, she took it slow.

Before he can even come up with a witty little comeback to her flirts, he can hear her shouting at someone. And can vaguely make out the responses back. Damnit, he really should've done some cardio last week... He feels so slow.

"Hannah, I swear, you better not be getting into a fight. I'm a few blocks away, don't be stupid." That was the last thing he wanted right now. He didn't want to have to break anything up, and even if it did come down to it, he didn't even have his hands taped up or anything. How ill prepared of him.

Upon mentioning the ‘other guy’, she sounds as if she turns away from her phone and directs the insult to someone further away from her and then returns to her own business. Lucky for him, his friends are starting to drag the guy away. Whatever.

"I'm practically here already. Don't touch my food." That's all he gives her before hanging up the call, and booking it the last few turns. The sign for the place is a refuge of sorts. And not to pay himself on the back, but it looked like his cardio training paid off.

He's a bit of a mess, with a red flush on his face, tussled hair, and shaky hands after realizing just how fucking cold he was. But he was here. Which meant that he'd done good. Now all he had to do was find Hannah, which wasn't hard at all considering that there was only one redhead woman in the bar.

Water. The bartender shakes his head in her direction when she looks to him. Well fuck. She sets the water back down and takes a bite of her own order of meatballs.

Mid-chew on her own treat, she looks towards the direction of the doors opening and grins once she's swallowed and realized it's Lach looking sweaty and flushed in the doorway, and oh, she likes the look of him like that, and she can't help but shamelessly give him a once over...

Taking the glass, he manages to chug half of his drink in one go. It tastes like trash, and has a nice burn to it, which means it's good. Damn near slamming the glass down on the counter, he finally had enough of himself gathered to look at her. Though it seemed as if she was focused on something else of his.

And maybe he flexes his bicep for her. Just to show off a bit.

Irrationally, yes, but she hates admitting sappy shit like that or even just letting the uncontrollable thought cross her mind. She didn't invite him just to think about cute smiles. She didn't want to be a sad drunk, so she invited him to not be alone. And maybe fuck afterwards if the universe is kind to her tonight.

"Are you kiddin'? My mind 's alive. 'M more awake than anyone else could ever be or... ever has been." The soft silk of her gloved hand pulls down on the sleeve of his shirt absentmindedly as she speaks, watching the material of his shirt cling to his bicep before eventually letting go.

It seems as if his company had found something to fidget with, as he watches Hannah mess around with his sleeve. He hadn't gone too extra tonight, opting for a boring white tee. But given how she couldn't keep her hands off his muscles, maybe that was the right move.

"Prove it? Now?" He'd just gotten done with cardio, and now she wanted to move right into weights? She would make a terrible personal trainer. And the worst part was that he actually wanted to do it. Whether it was out of pride, or just him trying to show off... Well, that was up for interpretation.

He does just as she was hoping he would, and she’s not conscious enough of her own self-perception to do anything about her excited grin. Holding onto the counter as she slides off her seat, she finds stability in order to not sway as evidently as she had been previously before Lach got here.

When she's standing, he can't help but look at her. Damn, she was pretty. He didn't come here to stare at her, he came here to drink. And he knew that she was drunk. But that dress she was in... She looked beautiful. And he felt lucky to see her in it.

"Nope. Just stand right there."

Getting closer to her, he places his hands on her waist. They're rough, years on years of playing anything with a string having done its damage on his fingers. Yet he's still as gentle as he can be.

So yeah, she can tell when Lach decides to really look at her once she’s stood up, but the way he does it is… strange. Not what she expects. And the hands on her waist are gentle.

…Huh.

As careful as ever, Lach puts Hannah back down on the floor, giving her a smile and a wink. "I'll remember that." Might come in handy soon if she decides to get into another altercation.

His hands stay on her waist for a second too long, and once he realizes, he quickly lets her go. Sitting back down, he takes another sip of his drink.

Unable to resist his temptations any longer, Lach steals one of the meatballs from Hannah's plate, and pops it into his mouth. She wasn't lying, these things were good. The closest thing he'd be getting to a steak at this hour.

"I guess you could say that... To be fair, I wasn't expecting to see you again. So this is a pleasant surprise." He says. It's true, he wasn't expecting Hannah to call him at all. After all, he was just a random musician she'd met on a random night. Giving her his number was a long shot, and he doubted she would've called him if she was sober. It was strange, how this had fallen into place.

At Lach’s comment about her call being a surprise, her brows furrow in confusion and the first expression other than a drunk, content smile crosses her face. “Uh… why would that be a surprise? You interest me. Or were you hoping I wouldn’t call?”

Her next sentiment makes him hurt though. It's not that he didn't want her to call. Far from it actually. He was hoping that she would at least shoot him a text for something. A branch to try and grab onto. But this... Wasn't exactly how he wanted it to go.

He sounded like an ass. He knew he did. But the circumstances for if she reached him were a little more ideal in his head.

"No, no, far from it. It's just... You're super drunk. And I'm probably gonna get super drunk..."

Even if she were bone-dry sober, comfort isn’t exactly her biggest strength. Isn’t that what he’s looking for right now? Suddenly words are… hard as fuck to think of right now. Would she have called him if she was sober? Sure, well. Eventually. It’s not her fault she’s been. Busy.

“…Yeah, well. That happens when you drink.” Hannah tries to make her voice sound less slurred with her words than they did before they started this conversation, shifting in her seat. “I mean, do you not wanna… be here or something?”

"No! I do want to be here, trust me! It's just... I don't know, maybe I wish it was different. Something that won't be blurry later, y'know?" He could've taken her out properly. Could've been able to wear something nicer so that it didn't look like she was going out with a guy off the street. Could've taken her out to dinner. Maybe a nice cocktail bar. With those steak cuts that would've left him wondering how he was gonna pay rent. But he would've done it if she would've asked.

So many maybe's... And yet, none of them would happen. Because this was here and now. And he was killing the mood with his contemplative silence.

"But I guess now isn't the time for all that, am I right?" He says, sitting up and snapping himself out of his depressing mind. Hannah didn't call him here to dampen her mood. So who was he to do such?

Lach keeps talking and Hannah keeps feeling— wrong. Why is he talking like that? What does he mean? What does it mean?

Different, blurry. Blurry stands out to her. Isn’t that the… the fun of hooking up? The mystery? The uncertainty? The endless questions afterwards? Why would he want her to remember this, why would he want to remember her? Remembering is painful. Remembering leads to realizing and realizing means to uncover something, and uncovering too much wouldn’t be good. Not for her, not for anyone. She— she—

She needs an actual drink. For the toast. The one Lach’s doing.

Bad news is that the way she decided to do it was with hopping over the bar.

Oh god, he could hear his brother in his ear right now. 'The bar is a sacred place, Lach. Patrons stay on that side, I stay on this side, and we mutually agree that that line shall not be crossed!' Wesley would be livid right now if he knew he was out with a jumper.

Except it doesn’t seem like she’s making a Greyhound. She’s making something with what she’s already retrieved plus absinthe, gin, and blackberry liqueur. It was definitely strong. If she was only going to allow herself one more drink, she might as well make it worth it. She was already starting to feel sober again.

And now she's forcing him to drink it. Now, here's the thing. He's allowed to say no. After all, it's his body, and he decides what dangerous potions to consume. However, the thing is, his mother didn't raise a little bitch.

Taking a deep breath, Lach brings the glass to his lips, and takes a small sip. If regret had a taste, he's pretty sure that it would taste similar to this. It burns his tongue on impact, and a cacophony of unbearable flavors accompanied it. Blackberries and gin and vodka and whatever the fuck else was in that cup.

“…Y’know you weren’t supposed to drink that one, right? That one’s mine.” Hannah reaches for the cup in the midst of Lach’s clear suffering, unable to resist her chuckle towards the end of her sentence. “I appreciate you trying though, even if you did hate it. It’s sweet.”

Once he's over his wincing, he gladly sets the drink back down. "Oh thank God." He says in relief. If she planned on drinking that, then maybe he'd be forced to carry her out of here. Maybe it was her grand plan all along. Considering how obsessed she'd become with his arms, she probably wouldn't mind.

"Uhm..." He never really went outside the usual 'Several beers' method of drinking, so he was a bit lost. Even with all the explanations his sibling gave him. Think... There were a bunch of random things he'd been told... Uh...

Hannah's eyes flit over the space in front and behind her in search of that signature copper mug, reaching for the vodka and ginger beer along with the lime in the meantime. "So, when'll I get to hear you sing again?"

"Depends. I'm searching for my next gig right now, so hopefully soon." It was hard, especially when he couldn't play one of the most 'perform at our place!' instruments in the piano. He'd tried learning so many times, but for some reason, he could never get his hands to cooperate, and the keys got so jumbled and it was just... Hard. He could keep track of 6 strings, and 20 frets, but 88 keys was hell.

He pops another meatball into his mouth.

"I don't see why not." Hannah slides the drink over to Lach and leans forward on the counter to wait until he's taken a swig of the drink, circling the rim of her own glass currently in front of her. "I promise I won't get drunk if you book a gig here... well, not too drunk, at least. An acceptable amount."

"I'll hold you to it then." Taking the copper cup, he's less hesitant to take the first sip than before. The taste is tangy, a little sweet, and that ginger packs a punch. But it's a lot more tolerable than that... Thing. And hey, beer. Good in his book.

Wouldn't that be something? A change of career and life for a night. Maybe if her life didn't go the way it did, she would be doing this for a living. Paid just about a little more than your average wage, living in some apartment nearby and falling into comfortable routines. In some world, maybe she would've liked it.

In this one though, it sounded like a cage to circle around in endlessly.

It was weird, wanting Hannah in his life like this. She was so... Ambitious. An attitude that said that it was her way or the highway. He didn't even really know her all too well, but he wanted to. If he was allowed to.

Her hand brings the glass to her lips, ready to take another swig of her boss battle of a drink before Lach surprises her another time. Huh. How does she describe what she’s been doing without simultaneously convincing him to call the cops on her?

This has felt surprisingly lucky on their part. The last thing they needed was for their luck to run out. Or, in the worst case, the cops pulling up.

A heavy sigh leaves her as she rethinks the events of her day upon processing his question, wondering just how much information she wants to share with him and how she would go about adjusting the truth as she went along doing so. "A bit of both. I deal with assholes on the regular, but this one today was just... fuck. The absolute worst."

"Well hey, that's a plus, isn't it? One less P.O.S to worry about." He cheers to that, taking another sip. "Yeah, people can be real assholes... See it all the time when I'm performing. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt though. Never know what someone else can be going through, y'know?"

Is it an excuse for them to throw glass bottles at him, or shout obscenities when he isn't playing the exact song they want? No, of course not. But there had to be a reason for everything. If not, then fate had been a real asshole to him until recently.

"You're too nice, y'know." She muses, fingers thrumming against the counter beneath them. "If someone gives me shit, I don't give 'em the time of day. It's no excuse to dump your bullshit on someone just 'cause you're having a rough time."

What an ironic thing to say is her own impulsive thought, one she does't linger on. "Honestly? Not a clue. Probably pass out somewhere and wake up in a city hundreds of miles away... that's a joke, by the way." Unfortunately, her humor could be a bit cut and dry. And concerning.

Her attempt at humor is enough to make him raise a brow. "Please don't. But, uh... I don't want you driving, if you even did drive here. My place isn't too far, a few blocks. If you want, uh..." His voice trails off. Even with literal liquid courage, he still didn't have the guts to ask her. Maybe he just wasn't drunk enough.

He takes another sip in an attempt to fix that problem. It does little to help.

At least she doesn't have to think on it for too long, not when Lach's words are stumbling over themselves in an attempt to ask her back to his place. Hannah finds herself leaning forward more against the countertop, enough where she's just a little closer to Lach than she was before.

"You're really sweet, hon." Hannah's smiles takes a shift into something else as she lowers her voice for just the two of them to hear. "...Would we be doing anything else at this place of yours–?"

"Hey! You can't be back there!"

A voice calls from the other end from behind the bar who, upon diverting her attention to the general direction of the sound, turns out to be the bartender. Who's still on the phone, mind you, shushing his girlfriend while he tries to play it tough. She can feel the eyeroll starting.

"Excuse me, I just made your life easier, asshole.” Hannah turns to face him with the intention of being fully prepared to get into another dispute, mostly fueled by the alcohol in her system. “Maybe do your job next time instead of crying to your girlfriend. Yeah, I heard you. ‘Just a friend’ my ass. Don’t forgive him, hon!”

The bartender sputters and flushes with embarrassment as she sends her little warning, glaring at her while all she does is send a sarcastic smile. He’s lucky she’s got company tonight.

“Wh— mind your business, bitch! I’m calling the cops on your ass!”

Whoops.

“Well. Looks like that’s our cue.” Hannah slides back over the counter to Lach’s side when the bartender turns his back to presumably dial the police, straightening out her dress and rummaging through her purse for her wallet. She tosses down what she’s pretty sure is a Benjamin; it’s about the only thing she carries in her wallet anyway.

There's a large box leaning up against the front door of Lach's place, largely evident "handle with care" and "fragile" labels stuck to the outside of it. Wouldn't want anything happening to her special gift. There's also a sticky note on the top, the message short and simple. Not exactly Jessie's Girl, but something better. - H

The guitar lays shiny and spotless inside the box, handled with the upmost care. She made sure to clean it to avoid any problems in the future that might trail back to any of them.

Hannah's latest victim didn't appreciate it the same way Lach would.

Valentine's Day had been a bit of an odd feeling for Lach the past few years. All he'd ever really gotten out of it was some nice dinner deals, and discounted chocolate the day after. He hadn't had a Valentine ever since... Well, the last one. Ever since, he's gone on a solo career.

But for some reason... Hannah stuck out. Call him childish, but he was genuinely considering getting her something and asking her to be his... Whatever she wanted to be. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he sounded like a creep. So he didn't.

But when he returns back to his place and finds a suspiciously guitar shaped package waiting for him with a sticky note, he can only feel his guilt eating him up further.

He immediately brings the package inside, tearing it open with his keys. Oh no. Oh fuck. This was perfect.

He had 0 clue how she got something like this. This was in perfect condition. Rick's signature looked still looked fresh. It was like this guitar hadn't aged a day. And now it was in his hands?!

Gently placing the priceless musical gem down in its box, he scrambles for his phone and calls the only person he thinks can help solve his problem.

"Hello?"

Monica got on her ass again for not contacting her immediately after her job was completed, Hannah had to go home and change from ruining her nice outfit with blood splatter, and her body still has the unfortunate aches from being shoved into that wall earlier today. The guy got pissy before she eventually killed him.

But look at her now. Sitting at a nice bar, in nicer clothes, and giving the bartender a nice smile when she orders another drink. She's feeling absolutely great... yeah.

She's also beyond shitfaced but that's besides the point. The point is, she's bored. Tremendously, and no one in here seems to catch her eye. She leans back in her seat with a heavy sigh; how unfortunate. There is one number belonging to a certain someone, one her inebriated mind is surprised to know she remembers.

Her phone rings, an annoying chime that drills into her head and only gives her momentary relief in between those brief pauses, but a smile spreads onto her face when she hears it's been answered and her voice makes that very aware.

"Heyyyy, crooner. What took ya so long ta answer?" Her voice is laced with her own grin, and she wanders from the bar counter to the unoccupied couch on the other side of the room, pushing through her own double vision as she sprawls out across it. "Am I not 'hot redhead' on your phone or something? But– listen, got something super super important to tell you. Listen ta what the bar 's playin' right now."

The phone sounds like it shifts before the music is playing more clearly now, the lyrics coming through.

"You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl. I wish that I had Jessie's girl. Where can I find a woman like that?"

"Crazy stuff, right?" Hannah's back with the phone to her ear, clearing her throat and getting right back into her talking. "'Minds me of that night. I swear no one gives two shits 'bout anyone who performs there. You should'a asked for a– a bonus or whatever. Guy who manages the joint's kinda a dick. Could'a killed him for ya... oops, wait, can't say that.

...You kinda look like you could crush a watermelon with your arms, 'n that's weirdly hot. Have you seen those videos? I'd pay to see that 'n person."

@perfectly-intoxicated

After another dud of a gig, Lach wasn't particularly in the best of spirits.

It wasn't like he'd be walking away with nothing he was legally required to be paid after all. But for such a small amount of money, he probably would've had better luck sitting on the street corner and playing for random people.

Now at his apartment, trying to decompress, a phone call isn't exactly on the top of his list of things to experience. But, seeing as he had nothing else to do, and couldn't fall asleep, he figured what harm would it do to answer?

"Hello?"

He wasn't expecting to be met with a very clearly not sober Hannah. It was almost comical how drunk she sounded. He could see the grin in front of him right now, though the rest of her face was a bit of a blur. It's been a minute since he'd seen her... Made him wonder why, out of all people, she'd call him.

"Unfortunately, despite how attractive you are, you're just Hannah on my phone. Sorry to disappoint." He humors, before listening to what she was trying to show. Jessie's Girl, the song that he'd played for her when they met. The song he'd dedicated to her. Quite the coincidence.

"Well, y'know, I can't exactly afford to be picky. Gotta eat, gotta pay rent, gotta live. But... Yeah, that guy was a dick. Not murder level, but not nice." Though had he not played in that shitty bar, he would've never met her. Wouldn't be laying in his bed, talking on the phone with her.

Before he can get even more contemplative though, she shocks him right to his core. That was certainly blunt. But she didn't seem like the kind of person to beat around the bush when she was sober. This was a privilege to see what little filter she had be removed.

Hannah’s head hangs off from the armrest of the couch, just enough to catch glimpses of people who walk in and out with a variety of sobriety. “If— if you open ‘n OnlyFans, I reserve the right ta a percen’age of what you make. I gave you the idea, after all… or maybe I could jus’ be there ‘n person for all the action.”

In her current state, she wouldn’t realize that the action she’s currently thinking of might be different from Lach’s own. “I swear ‘m a great director. Or I could be. I could help with clean up.”

…Her version of clean up is also very different.

He genuinely considers the offer held in front of him. He was very comfortable in his bed. Was it really worth changing back out of his sweats just to possibly get blackout drunk again?

“Come ooon, you wouldn’ leave ‘n unassuming lady to fend for herself, would you? What if I wander out ‘nto the street ‘n… get kidnapped? ‘m very much what a kidnapper would look for. What if I get stopped by a Mormon?”

"Oh, whatever. Like anyone would want you stumbling around all over the place." He tries to keep his voice light, but it would be a lie to say that the idea of her being snatched up didn't make him move a tad bit faster.

She’d rather not go into that experience right now.

“Hold on, lemme check.” Hannah gets to her feet, stumbling as she does so and knocking over something that she can’t quite make out. Still, there’s a muffled apology from her end as she feels along the wall towards the double doors. The ring of the bells above it irritates her.

"Got it. Just please keep you and your meatballs inside the bar 'til I get there." Tossing on some jeans, he heeds her warning and brings a jacket with him, practically running out the door so that Hannah wouldn't get the opportunity to leave without him. He decides to ditch driving. If he was gonna be drinking, the last thing he needed was to lose his keys. Or die, whichever was worse.

She plops down at one of the seats at the bar counter, waving the guy over with an extra nice smile when she puts their order in. From the corner of her eye, there’s the confirmed speculation of the bartender throwing glances her way. Poor guy, thought he had a chance.

"Yeah, sure, I have a soft spot for you. Whatever makes you sit down and not get kidnapped." He tries to sound like he doesn't care that much. But the unfortunate truth was that he did care. Very much. Call him a big softie.

He can hear her placing the order past the wind blowing by. Which thankfully means that she was sat and not going anywhere. "And so what if I am running? Acting like you're not the one that told me to get there or else you'd be snatched."

Welp. Anyway.

"Besides, don' forget. I still have time t' be convinced into Mormonism. I can almost see the dress shirts n' ties from here... you'd look good 'n a dress shirt 'n tie. You should send me a picture if you ever wear 'em. Maybe I'd return the favor." Her last statement is a low purr, something that could've been more seductive if some other drunk ass hadn't shoved into her from behind. At least when she got drunk, she took it slow.

Before he can even come up with a witty little comeback to her flirts, he can hear her shouting at someone. And can vaguely make out the responses back. Damnit, he really should've done some cardio last week... He feels so slow.

"Hannah, I swear, you better not be getting into a fight. I'm a few blocks away, don't be stupid." That was the last thing he wanted right now. He didn't want to have to break anything up, and even if it did come down to it, he didn't even have his hands taped up or anything. How ill prepared of him.

Upon mentioning the ‘other guy’, she sounds as if she turns away from her phone and directs the insult to someone further away from her and then returns to her own business. Lucky for him, his friends are starting to drag the guy away. Whatever.

"I'm practically here already. Don't touch my food." That's all he gives her before hanging up the call, and booking it the last few turns. The sign for the place is a refuge of sorts. And not to pay himself on the back, but it looked like his cardio training paid off.

He's a bit of a mess, with a red flush on his face, tussled hair, and shaky hands after realizing just how fucking cold he was. But he was here. Which meant that he'd done good. Now all he had to do was find Hannah, which wasn't hard at all considering that there was only one redhead woman in the bar.

Water. The bartender shakes his head in her direction when she looks to him. Well fuck. She sets the water back down and takes a bite of her own order of meatballs.

Mid-chew on her own treat, she looks towards the direction of the doors opening and grins once she's swallowed and realized it's Lach looking sweaty and flushed in the doorway, and oh, she likes the look of him like that, and she can't help but shamelessly give him a once over...

Taking the glass, he manages to chug half of his drink in one go. It tastes like trash, and has a nice burn to it, which means it's good. Damn near slamming the glass down on the counter, he finally had enough of himself gathered to look at her. Though it seemed as if she was focused on something else of his.

And maybe he flexes his bicep for her. Just to show off a bit.

Irrationally, yes, but she hates admitting sappy shit like that or even just letting the uncontrollable thought cross her mind. She didn't invite him just to think about cute smiles. She didn't want to be a sad drunk, so she invited him to not be alone. And maybe fuck afterwards if the universe is kind to her tonight.

"Are you kiddin'? My mind 's alive. 'M more awake than anyone else could ever be or... ever has been." The soft silk of her gloved hand pulls down on the sleeve of his shirt absentmindedly as she speaks, watching the material of his shirt cling to his bicep before eventually letting go.

It seems as if his company had found something to fidget with, as he watches Hannah mess around with his sleeve. He hadn't gone too extra tonight, opting for a boring white tee. But given how she couldn't keep her hands off his muscles, maybe that was the right move.

"Prove it? Now?" He'd just gotten done with cardio, and now she wanted to move right into weights? She would make a terrible personal trainer. And the worst part was that he actually wanted to do it. Whether it was out of pride, or just him trying to show off... Well, that was up for interpretation.

He does just as she was hoping he would, and she’s not conscious enough of her own self-perception to do anything about her excited grin. Holding onto the counter as she slides off her seat, she finds stability in order to not sway as evidently as she had been previously before Lach got here.

When she's standing, he can't help but look at her. Damn, she was pretty. He didn't come here to stare at her, he came here to drink. And he knew that she was drunk. But that dress she was in... She looked beautiful. And he felt lucky to see her in it.

"Nope. Just stand right there."

Getting closer to her, he places his hands on her waist. They're rough, years on years of playing anything with a string having done its damage on his fingers. Yet he's still as gentle as he can be.

So yeah, she can tell when Lach decides to really look at her once she’s stood up, but the way he does it is… strange. Not what she expects. And the hands on her waist are gentle.

…Huh.

As careful as ever, Lach puts Hannah back down on the floor, giving her a smile and a wink. "I'll remember that." Might come in handy soon if she decides to get into another altercation.

His hands stay on her waist for a second too long, and once he realizes, he quickly lets her go. Sitting back down, he takes another sip of his drink.

Unable to resist his temptations any longer, Lach steals one of the meatballs from Hannah's plate, and pops it into his mouth. She wasn't lying, these things were good. The closest thing he'd be getting to a steak at this hour.

"I guess you could say that... To be fair, I wasn't expecting to see you again. So this is a pleasant surprise." He says. It's true, he wasn't expecting Hannah to call him at all. After all, he was just a random musician she'd met on a random night. Giving her his number was a long shot, and he doubted she would've called him if she was sober. It was strange, how this had fallen into place.

At Lach’s comment about her call being a surprise, her brows furrow in confusion and the first expression other than a drunk, content smile crosses her face. “Uh… why would that be a surprise? You interest me. Or were you hoping I wouldn’t call?”

Her next sentiment makes him hurt though. It's not that he didn't want her to call. Far from it actually. He was hoping that she would at least shoot him a text for something. A branch to try and grab onto. But this... Wasn't exactly how he wanted it to go.

He sounded like an ass. He knew he did. But the circumstances for if she reached him were a little more ideal in his head.

"No, no, far from it. It's just... You're super drunk. And I'm probably gonna get super drunk..."

Even if she were bone-dry sober, comfort isn’t exactly her biggest strength. Isn’t that what he’s looking for right now? Suddenly words are… hard as fuck to think of right now. Would she have called him if she was sober? Sure, well. Eventually. It’s not her fault she’s been. Busy.

“…Yeah, well. That happens when you drink.” Hannah tries to make her voice sound less slurred with her words than they did before they started this conversation, shifting in her seat. “I mean, do you not wanna… be here or something?”

"No! I do want to be here, trust me! It's just... I don't know, maybe I wish it was different. Something that won't be blurry later, y'know?" He could've taken her out properly. Could've been able to wear something nicer so that it didn't look like she was going out with a guy off the street. Could've taken her out to dinner. Maybe a nice cocktail bar. With those steak cuts that would've left him wondering how he was gonna pay rent. But he would've done it if she would've asked.

So many maybe's... And yet, none of them would happen. Because this was here and now. And he was killing the mood with his contemplative silence.

"But I guess now isn't the time for all that, am I right?" He says, sitting up and snapping himself out of his depressing mind. Hannah didn't call him here to dampen her mood. So who was he to do such?

Lach keeps talking and Hannah keeps feeling— wrong. Why is he talking like that? What does he mean? What does it mean?

Different, blurry. Blurry stands out to her. Isn’t that the… the fun of hooking up? The mystery? The uncertainty? The endless questions afterwards? Why would he want her to remember this, why would he want to remember her? Remembering is painful. Remembering leads to realizing and realizing means to uncover something, and uncovering too much wouldn’t be good. Not for her, not for anyone. She— she—

She needs an actual drink. For the toast. The one Lach’s doing.

Bad news is that the way she decided to do it was with hopping over the bar.

Oh god, he could hear his brother in his ear right now. 'The bar is a sacred place, Lach. Patrons stay on that side, I stay on this side, and we mutually agree that that line shall not be crossed!' Wesley would be livid right now if he knew he was out with a jumper.

Except it doesn’t seem like she’s making a Greyhound. She’s making something with what she’s already retrieved plus absinthe, gin, and blackberry liqueur. It was definitely strong. If she was only going to allow herself one more drink, she might as well make it worth it. She was already starting to feel sober again.

And now she's forcing him to drink it. Now, here's the thing. He's allowed to say no. After all, it's his body, and he decides what dangerous potions to consume. However, the thing is, his mother didn't raise a little bitch.

Taking a deep breath, Lach brings the glass to his lips, and takes a small sip. If regret had a taste, he's pretty sure that it would taste similar to this. It burns his tongue on impact, and a cacophony of unbearable flavors accompanied it. Blackberries and gin and vodka and whatever the fuck else was in that cup.

“…Y’know you weren’t supposed to drink that one, right? That one’s mine.” Hannah reaches for the cup in the midst of Lach’s clear suffering, unable to resist her chuckle towards the end of her sentence. “I appreciate you trying though, even if you did hate it. It’s sweet.”

Once he's over his wincing, he gladly sets the drink back down. "Oh thank God." He says in relief. If she planned on drinking that, then maybe he'd be forced to carry her out of here. Maybe it was her grand plan all along. Considering how obsessed she'd become with his arms, she probably wouldn't mind.

"Uhm..." He never really went outside the usual 'Several beers' method of drinking, so he was a bit lost. Even with all the explanations his sibling gave him. Think... There were a bunch of random things he'd been told... Uh...

Hannah's eyes flit over the space in front and behind her in search of that signature copper mug, reaching for the vodka and ginger beer along with the lime in the meantime. "So, when'll I get to hear you sing again?"

"Depends. I'm searching for my next gig right now, so hopefully soon." It was hard, especially when he couldn't play one of the most 'perform at our place!' instruments in the piano. He'd tried learning so many times, but for some reason, he could never get his hands to cooperate, and the keys got so jumbled and it was just... Hard. He could keep track of 6 strings, and 20 frets, but 88 keys was hell.

He pops another meatball into his mouth.

"I don't see why not." Hannah slides the drink over to Lach and leans forward on the counter to wait until he's taken a swig of the drink, circling the rim of her own glass currently in front of her. "I promise I won't get drunk if you book a gig here... well, not too drunk, at least. An acceptable amount."

"I'll hold you to it then." Taking the copper cup, he's less hesitant to take the first sip than before. The taste is tangy, a little sweet, and that ginger packs a punch. But it's a lot more tolerable than that... Thing. And hey, beer. Good in his book.

Wouldn't that be something? A change of career and life for a night. Maybe if her life didn't go the way it did, she would be doing this for a living. Paid just about a little more than your average wage, living in some apartment nearby and falling into comfortable routines. In some world, maybe she would've liked it.

In this one though, it sounded like a cage to circle around in endlessly.

It was weird, wanting Hannah in his life like this. She was so... Ambitious. An attitude that said that it was her way or the highway. He didn't even really know her all too well, but he wanted to. If he was allowed to.

Her hand brings the glass to her lips, ready to take another swig of her boss battle of a drink before Lach surprises her another time. Huh. How does she describe what she’s been doing without simultaneously convincing him to call the cops on her?

This has felt surprisingly lucky on their part. The last thing they needed was for their luck to run out. Or, in the worst case, the cops pulling up.

A heavy sigh leaves her as she rethinks the events of her day upon processing his question, wondering just how much information she wants to share with him and how she would go about adjusting the truth as she went along doing so. "A bit of both. I deal with assholes on the regular, but this one today was just... fuck. The absolute worst."

"Well hey, that's a plus, isn't it? One less P.O.S to worry about." He cheers to that, taking another sip. "Yeah, people can be real assholes... See it all the time when I'm performing. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt though. Never know what someone else can be going through, y'know?"

Is it an excuse for them to throw glass bottles at him, or shout obscenities when he isn't playing the exact song they want? No, of course not. But there had to be a reason for everything. If not, then fate had been a real asshole to him until recently.

"You're too nice, y'know." She muses, fingers thrumming against the counter beneath them. "If someone gives me shit, I don't give 'em the time of day. It's no excuse to dump your bullshit on someone just 'cause you're having a rough time."

What an ironic thing to say is her own impulsive thought, one she does't linger on. "Honestly? Not a clue. Probably pass out somewhere and wake up in a city hundreds of miles away... that's a joke, by the way." Unfortunately, her humor could be a bit cut and dry. And concerning.

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