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They meet when Jake is finishing out his degree in liberal arts, the loans of which he will probably never be able to pay off, but he’s young and optimistic and overly imaginative, coming up with a different alter-ego each night.
And Boyle… well, he’s fresh out of a breakup and crying at the bar, drinking water and literally eating napkins straight from a holder because he’s so distraught with the loss of his wife.
"She was the one!" He’d sob and then eat another napkin, unaware of the bartender staring at him with a mix of awe, disgust, and pity. Everyone else in the bar is actively avoiding even looking at him, except Jake who plops down on the stool right next to him and buys him a drink.
"Hello sad napkin eating man, would you like to tell me about your troubles?" And Boyle actually stops eating his napkins to look at him with the saddest, most beaten down expression that Jake has ever seen.
"Chelsea left me today, she said we didn’t have anything in common anymore. Said I was too affectionate." Then he starts crying again, big wet tears streaming down his face. Jake has never seen a man cry like this public before but he’s prepared. Tonight he’s not Jake Peralta, Liberal arts student drowning in debt, he’s Lance DeLuscious, precociously handsome male stripper on his down time, willing to help this sad sad man stop eating napkins and drinking his own tears (Also gives the best lap dances this side of the Brooklyn Bridge, eat your heart out Dale Divine!).
"One moment everything was perfect and we were so in love, now, now I’m eating napkins in a bar." He whines, reaching for another napkin.
"No more napkins, I’m cutting you off." The bartender grunts, replacing the napkin dispenser with a scotch on the rocks. "Just drink your sorrows away like a normal person."
And Boyle just cries more, drinking his scotch slow and sad because it burns and hurts, not as much as losing Chelsea, but enough to distract him.
"I’m such a loser…" He groans, pressing his face against the cool wood of the bar.
"Hey, don’t talk like that. You probably aren’t always a loser. Everyone has days when they eat napkins." Jake pats him on the shoulder reassuringly.
"Really?"
"Not at all, but that still doesn’t make you a loser. You’re just having a tough time right now. Nothing your weight in alcohol won’t fix!" He orders a round of drinks for them even though Boyle’s barely touched his drink ( and seems to actually be getting drunk off of the first sip) and ends up drinking most of them on his own while Boyle nurses his own scotch at a snails pace, becoming sadder and less coherent with each sip. After about six rounds, Jake realizes that they are both plastered.
"Hey, sad man lets make out." He slurs, putting a hand on Charles’. It takes Boyle a minute to process his proposition, the gears turning slowly in his head.
"But I’m useless…" He finally answers, sounding even more down than before,”I’d only waste your time…” Jake is undeterred, he simply puts on his best seductive, inviting look and says:
“There’s no one I’d rather waste with right now.” Boyle’s face goes red instantly.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” And Jake leans in to kiss him full on the lips, all drunk and sloppy and tender. Boyle clings to him like a drowning man scrambling onto the shore. His mouth is still dry from all of the napkins, but he’s so into it, so into Jake (well, Zane). And neither of them are quite sure of what it means or what it could lead to, but anything is better than being alone.