댄서

“At least I’m consistent,” he sang, focusing on the woman’s gaze through bleary eyes and snorting, amused when her finger prodded his own. “I didn’t think you did, though,” he said, tapping at the bar with an index finger. “This is sort of my regular and I don’t think I’ve seen you before. So you’re new. And I’m Sabre,” he introduced himself out of the blue, hand thrust into the others space.

“But him getting laid is you getting laid, I didn’t say your dick was connected to his pleasure. So he’d just cause your erection to flag, nagging at you as you tried to get it on. It just wouldn’t be worth it. And poking your eardrums out, again, means you suffer.” Sabre’s shoulders rose with a small shrug, trembling a little after following mirth-filled laughter. “Knowing you, it’d end in murder-suicide,” he murmured, lips curving with a fond smile as Sabre sipped from his glass. The theoretical scenario sounded like anyone’s idea of a nightmare—even worse than being a twin—but opened up an interesting discussion, regarding one's privacy and how valued it truly was. Not to mention how everyone had an uncanny ability at some point in their lives, to utterly irritate the shit out of themselves. Even egotistical bastards, like his beloved friend. The thought coaxed another chuckle forth and Sabre hastily cleared his throat, a hand thrust in the air to flag down some bar staff.

“Murder wasn’t on my mind today, but I could be persuaded,” he teased right back, an eyebrow quirking to match the smirk threatening on his lips. “Hit the gym with me then, we’ll work on your upper body strength and you can outdance all your colleagues. You know if you can’t hold your full weight on the pole, they’ll just get someone else who can, and that’s money lost, baby girl.” Slapping an empty palm onto the floor at his side, Sabre jerked his chin toward the vacant space, gaze trailing the woman’s movements while she spun gracefully around the pole. It was easy to see Sunni was just too lost in her mind tonight for her plight to be successful. Whenever that happened, alcohol was needed. It broke down some barriers and released the tension. And Sabre didn’t mind playing therapist, he’d listen to whatever Sunni had to say. His advice might be for shit, but he cared, and surely that was all that mattered. “Come here, and stop killing yourself. You’re far too important for that shit,” he was grinning mischievously, crunching into a chip and watching his friend. She’d been through a lot lately, and dancing only offered an escape for so long. One couldn’t run from themselves forever. “You think I thought this was you trying? Babe, you didn’t even make my dick twitch and that’s just inexcusable.” Sabre’s banter, as vulgar as ever, would surely make her smile. He was missing those pretty smiles. “You gotta share,” he quickly inserted, rifling suddenly through his backpack then producing a bottle of absinthe. “Tadah!”

Completely lost in reverie, Sabre hadn't noticed the physical barrier vanishing between them until he was almost staggering into the other man. That outstretched hand didn't go unnoticed, though, and he instinctively leaned into the unexpected touch. When it didn't land, liquid brown eyes found the others. The persistent compulsion to get high and forget the world seemed to wane when their gazes finally connected. Indifference quickly morphed into annoyance, a scowl settling on plush lips while the dancer shrugged in response to the inquiry about his injuries. Isaac's disinterest was tangible but expected. It had been two long years since they'd met in person—the pair seemed braver over drunken texts. "Got into a fight at work. Some dick was trying to steal my tips, kicked his ass,” he gruffed, swiping the back of a hand along a cheek littered with bruises. Explaining his injuries at work wasn't going to be easy, but at least shady clients wouldn't mind the marring. “Stop being a dick, Isaac, it doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, dark piercing eyes pinning the other man. "Can I come in? And can you give me two fucking seconds of your time, or is it too much to ask?” Okay, so he could be nicer about things, but Sabre was done playing games. It was time they sat down like functioning adults and talked things out. Although, looking at his ex now—stood on the stoop, attractively dishevelled—talking was the last thing on Sabre's mind.

Sabre gave a faint snort, wagging a finger in the woman's direction and shaking his head slowly. “Untrue. I’m typically a mess. Or a dick. Or both.” His shoulders raised with a nonchalant shrug and he lifted the glass to his lips and took another sip of whiskey. He’d been drinking for the past hour or two. “This is like a cheesy pick-up line, but… do you come here often?”

“You wake up and you’ve grown another head, but this one isn’t as handsome and you, and it seems to have a mind of its own. Starts nagging you about the stupidest shit and it’s constant. Now, cutting it off will only lead to your death as well, and you also share a voice box—don’t ask me how I don’t know the details—what do you do?” Sabre narrowed obsidian eyes on his oldest and dearest friend, a smirk safely concealed behind the rim of his glass. The question itself was stupid, but so were most of their conversations. At this point, they'd covered almost every possible life-altering scenario in the book, from zombie attacks to the apocalypse, so half the fun lay in finding fresh ones. "And no one else can help you. Only you can do something about it," he supplied, before downing the entire contents of his glass in one hearty gulp. Absinthe always went down a treat with Sabre, he was practically addicted to the stuff. A tidbit he stealthily hid from Ace, lest the man pry it from his fingers. He sat facing his friend, legs resting over the others thighs, reclining into the booth seat of the bar they found on their little pub crawl. The night was still young, and they were far too sober to head home, so Sabre got himself comfortable, sprawled over the other man. Ace wouldn't mind. He never did.

“Walking on air always looks great on a pole, you should try some of that,” Sabre suggested from his spot on the floor, munching away on spicy chips and watching Sunni work. They usually met up at some point during the week to work on routines, but he'd also taken to escorting the woman home after work. Their shift patterns aligned, much of the time. Over the years, she became the sister Sabre never had, and more often than not, he found himself seeking her out. They shared more than just a profession in common—their senses of humour were pretty similar as well. "If you fall, though, I won't be able to catch you. I'm dealing with important shit here," he supplied, a smirk pulling at his lips while he wriggled a chip held in hand. He probably should be spotting Sunni, just in case she slipped and missed the pole, but he trusted her footing. She was a professional, and this wasn't her first rodeo. "But when you're done, I've got a special treat for you. It's green and alcoholic, and we're gonna get so wasted."

A far cry from sobriety, Sabre staggered on the spot, hand poised, preparing to rap bruised knuckles on Isaac’s front door. But a misstep sent him stumbling into the wall at the last second, and instead of knocking, he caught himself against the door. A resounding thud echoed throughout the street, followed by a sharp cry of surprise that caused a few neighbourhood dogs to start yelping. Discretion was not his forte. "For the love of fuck," he ground out, jaw clenched and muscles jumping, betraying his annoyance while Sabre shoved himself away from the door and wiped both hands off on his jacket. Not that it mattered, he wasn't exactly what one could consider clean anyway. His pants were saturated with mud, face not quite as pretty as usual. A byproduct of a tousle at work. He'd found a colleague stealing his tips and punches were thrown. And although he'd emerged victorious, Sabre hadn't escaped completely unscathed. His split lip and bruised cheek, a testament to that. And now he found himself at Isaac's door, once again, trying to reconnect. But he'd managed to mess even that up. Still, he knocked lightly, hoping the man was home and willing to answer. 

Thrusting his glass into the air, rivulets of whiskey trickling down his wrist and along his arm, Sabre’s attention returned to the woman. “I’m everyone’s idea of a nightmare!” he exclaimed, his hold strong for mere seconds before gravity sent the glass back to the bar top with a heavy thump. His body was quick to follow, elbow colliding with the hard surface and catching his weight. “Oops, lil drunk.”

That was certainly one way to describe the daily lack of concern for his safety, anyway. It had been a long time since Sabre cared enough to make the right choices in life, but he was getting there. The past few months were better than most. With a self-deprecating smile lifting his lips, Sabre picked up his glass and swallowed a few mouthfuls of whiskey. The resulting burn, always a pleasant one. “Mm, at least I’m someone’s idea of a dream, right? Goals and all that.”

“I always thought I’d end up on the nine o’clock news,” he muttered, a lopsided grin making its way onto his lips. Sabre had a mountain of issues, and the annoyingly intrusive clientele at work wasn't high on that list. Some did have the odd serial killer vibe, though, his companion was right. “I don’t have the time or money for any of that, though. Well,” he paused, a snort escaping him. “I would have if my stupid aunt and uncle gave me the damn money they owe me.”

“I’d need a few then, if that was the case,” Sabre mused, slumping against the bar with an elbow narrowly avoiding the glass he’d placed there moments before. He was far too intoxicated to continue drinking, but that wasn’t about to stop him. Any high was welcome right about now. “Dudes follow me home from work all the time, but usually, they take a hint after a bit. They probably assume I’m down since I was grinding on them at 9 pm. It’s my job, bro, take a hint.”