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danny boy molloy is infamous. he’s surprised there isn’t a wanted poster taped up against bathroom stalls and street corners.

tonight he’s half a bottle of cheap vodka (from its place on his bedside table) and a dirty martini into his evening and things are looking up. there’s at least two people who’d go home with him if he laid it on thick enough. but it feels tedious. this bar, this drink, this night. all tedious.

that is until a guy sits down next to him. real pretty. looks like every daydream he’s ever had about a man. and not just because he’s dead sexy.

he smells nice. clean. he looks like he spent good money on his clothes. which should mean he’s got no interest in a guy like daniel. but suddenly daniel’s got another drink in front of him, and the guy smiles like they know each other and daniel is drunk. getting drunker by the second it seems.

and this guy is gorgeous. beyond. the guy laughs and it seems daniel has said most of this out loud. clumsy. but he doesn’t look put off. just sort of interested. what’s another word that means interesting?

they end up outside, crushed against each other on a park bench. daniel should care. but he doesn’t. can’t. not when this beautiful stranger has his hands tangled in daniel’s hair. not when he’s kissing daniel like it’s his favorite thing to do. like it’s the only thing.

he’s trying not to cry at the way he’s being held. at the way the guy places a hand on his jaw. he doesn’t deserve this. someone like this. someone who handles him with care.

daniel molloy is an asshole. he knows this. but he lets it not matter. lets himself have this. one thing. a moment that’s his. a moment meant for someone better.