#rum-runner

Bartending was never something Zuko saw himself doing. Yet, five nights a week he’s serving alcohol to relentless flirts and drunks in fancy after work suits. The bar was attached to his uncle’s tea shop, the other side a locked door away.

The customer flow was steady, per usual. It was hardly the establishment to gather for sporting events or parties; Zuko would’ve never agreed to work at the bar if it was rowdy and obnoxious.

He scanned the room idly, spotting mostly regulars, either relaxing alone or chatting among themselves. One regular seemed to be the former - he was blond and pale, and roughly Zuko’s age. He rarely ordered anything, but he always ended up staggering out of the bar by the end of the night. 

Whenever he wasn’t busy, Zuko would glance over at him. As the hours passed, the man began to slouch and sway on his feet, intoxication evident. When most of the other patrons cleared out, he could no longer help but approach him.