Work Text:
Working as a bartender meant you had to deal with one-too-many drunks.
Some were insistent and desperate, others clearly unable to keep their hands to themselves. However, you had always managed to either convince them to get their act together or notify the bouncer.
Horny, intoxicated men usually annoyed the hell out of you.
Usually.
Today, the pitiful soul who could barely keep his head up was actually... entertaining!
At first, he struck you as a prick; the way he sauntered in, winking at women as he ran his fingers through his ash-brown hair. It was as if he thought himself to be God's gift to Earth or something.
You began to suspect it was all an act. No way could someone so ignorant exist.
Sure enough, the young man's over-the-top façade quickly disappeared after a single serving of your special concoction.
You had made it very clear it was a strong drink. But the try-hard insisted he'd have no problem staying sober.
And now he was completely wasted.
Something about that man's cocky sense of authority washed away by alcohol was ironic. You couldn't help but sympathize him.
It was so pathetically adorable.
So, a few drinks and reinvented tales later, he began to tell his most exaggerated Titan encounter yet.
Many customers moved as far away as they could from him, knowing he was full of it. Some even up and left!
But you, the bartender, couldn't take a new position. You had drinks to serve and tolerated his presence. In fact, you may have even began enjoying it.
Many men entered the pub, trying to impress women with their fabricated stories. None, however, took it this far and made it so obvious they were fibbing.
It's like he was looking for attention, desperate to be your knight in shiny armor.
So, you let him ramble on. He'd motion with the empty tankard for emphasis, sloshing alcohol on the bartop and himself as he preached of his many accomplishments.
"...and I shlashed at ish neck, taking the colashal titan down!" he hiccuped, waving his beer mug in an apparent 'shlash' with exaggeration.
Such a terrible lie. The colossal titan was still very much alive.
But, you, his audience, clapped enthusiastically, "My, my, such a hero! And I have the honor of serving you." You refilled his tankard in unison with your statement.
He took a long swig before replying, using all his willpower to keep from blacking out, "Yesh, you're quite the lucky" -hic- "beer maiden."
You smiled, nodding in agreement, "Seems so. And if I'm ever in distress, I can count on you to save me, right?"
"Why, of courshe!" exclaimed the drunk, "I am the Titan Shlayer, aka, Jeeeeean Kirshtein!" He tried for a charming smile, but failed. Still a cutie, though.
"Jean Kirstein," you decided to play along with his theatrics, "Around these parts, everyone refers to you as... Um." Your mind blanked. You couldn't think of a fitting title. But that eager look in Jean's eyes sparked up some creativity, "'He Who Slayed The Titans,'"
It was so tacky. A customer overheard and groaned at it, rolling his eyes. But you continued, "So, you see, I never even knew your real name. Otherwise, I would've sought you out to thank you for saving us all."
"Mm," nodded Jean, as if it's a day-to-day occurrence, "Yesh, I see the misconsheption. I haft so mush names, but no one knows my true 'denity."
"Except me," you added.
" You're an exsheption," he stated, "So, don't go telling ev'ryone."
"You have my word, Sir Kirstein." You leaned across the counter, offering your pinky as you look into his dilated pupils.
Jean, who already had rosy cheeks from the alcohol, turned an even deeper shade of red. He blinked at your offered digit, unfamiliar with the formality you had addressed him with.
"Th-thanksh," he interlocked his finger with yours.
You chuckled, fully aware you were probably the only woman to initiate physical contact with Jean. Willingly. And when you took his pinky into yours, you were surprised by the firmess of the gesture and the callouses.
"Y/N," called a familiar voice.
You turned your attention away from Jean and took notice of your co-worker. You smiled, "Hey!"
"Hi, uh, what are you still doing here? Your shift ended already..." said your co-worker, adjusting his apron.
"O-oh," you chuckled, "I was occupied with a customer and lost track of time."
"Sheesh, that loser? He's gonna have one helluva hangover tomorrow."
You glanced towards Jean, suprised to see his head resting against the sticky counter. A puddle of drool pooled beneath him, followed by light snores. "I was expecting him to last longer, to be honest."
Your co-worker busied himself, cleaning a glass with a damp rag as you extended a hand towards the drunk. You curled your index finger around a lock of his hair. It put silk to shame.
It was unbelievably soft and you found yourself combing your fingers through it as your co-worker eyed you suspiciously. Jean didn't stir once and maybe it was better that way. You could only imagine how he'd act if he woke up to his current interest twirling his hair.
"If you're so interested in him, why don't you take the poor guy home? Before I have to deal with him?"
The comment was meant to be sarcastic. But you considered it.
And after a moment, you replied, "That doesn't sound half-bad."
"What happened to your standards?" pressed your co-worker, "You'd actually invite him in?"
"What's it to you?" you retorted, "I bring home whoever I please."
"Suit yourself," he grumbled.
With that said, you headed to the back of the pub to collect your personal items before returning to the bartop. Jean was still fast asleep.
"Hey, Jean?" You nudged him gently until he shifted ever so slightly.
"Hmm?" hummed Jean, barely audible. He was still half-asleep.
"Wanna crash here at the bar or somewhere with a bed?"
"Wanna bed..." requested Jean, lifting his head a bit.
"I can help you with that," you said, "But, you needa get up first."
"I'm soooo tired, though." whined Jean.
"Don't worry," you chided, "I'll help you out. I just need you to stand up first and that's it. Promise, Titan Slayer."
Your co-worker scoffed, but you payed no attention to him as Jean rose with much reluctance. He stumbled, but you were quick to support him. With your right arm around his torso and his left pulled around your neck, you managed to begin your walk home with the intoxicated man.
He reeked of booze and was fairly heavy. But, you didn't particularly mind. Despite the different circumstances, it wasn't technically your first time walking a drunk out. You could handle dragging him along a few blocks.
During the stroll, Jean mumbled in his sleep and would occasionally twitch. You remained quiet, listening to his soft breathing. How could someone so obnoxious sleep so peacefully?
In no time, you stepped before your home sweet home.
"Just this way, Sir Kirstein."