just bartender Johnny and bartender Gaz being overworked.
The streets are vacant, the barstools as well.
The bar is littered with beer bottles, some empty, others halfway full.
The lights are on, but low. Casting a warm glow inside ‘The Last Call’.
It’s closing time.
Gaz stands behind the bar, his shoulders slumped, as he repeatedly polishes the same glass in his hands.
Watching the white cloth move in circles over and over.
Johnny stands a few feet away, a broom moving in slow strokes back and forth against the floor. Doing little but pushing dirt around.
Neither of them have said a word.
The only noise in the room being the broom brushing against the floor and the quiet music that Price has put on.
A soft clink of glass makes Johnnys tired gaze move to Gaz.
He has no expression on his face. Lips thin, eyes heavy.
The broom in Johnnys hand comes to a stop.
Gaz places the cup top down on the bar. Both palms flat against the wood, caging in the glass between them.
His stare fixated on the bar top.
Johnny takes a step forward, his boots awkwardly squeaking under him.
“Kyle?”
Honey brown eyes find Johnny’s concerned gaze.
A smile that doesn’t quite reach them pulling on his lips.
“Hm?”
Johnny adjusts the broom under him, shifting his feet. Leaning onto the broom like it’s a sturdy pillar. His elbow perched on its handle.
Watching Gaz a little too closely.
Gaz’s ringed finger quickly taps against the bar below.
“Ye look dead on yer feet Kyle.”
Johnny attempts to tease, but the sound comes out strangled.
Gaz slowly stands to his full height, wiping his face with both hands, like that could smooth out the exhaustion written in his features.
Then, a laugh leaves his lips.
But there’s no humor in it, just this empty reverb.
The sound makes Johnny stiffen.
The broom under him now tight in his grasp.
“Think m’might be past tired at this point.”
He shakes his head, smile flat.
Gaz picks the glass up once again.
Heavy and cold.
Johnny watches for a moment longer before dropping the broom.
It hits the floor with a crack that splits the silence apart.
In three steps, Johnny is sat at the bar.
Arms folded, expression serious.
He nods to the barstool next to him.
“Sit with me.”
Gaz stares at him, long enough for a crease to form between his brows.
Then, the glass gets set down once again.
And another bar stool scrapes against the floor.
AN: I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t practice. <3
