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the bar, late at night
Given it was ten minutes to midnight, on Christmas fucking Eve, Aelin could hardly breathe there were so many people, just everywhere. All the bar stools were filled, except for the freshly upholstered, red leather, gold accented bar stool. The one which sat front and centre of the long, dark wood bar top. The one which Rowan had specially designed and refurbished, just for, just so she would have a seat at the bar—always.
She had cried so many tears, happy tears, when he’d brought her to the bar early one morning and had her unwrap it. Her name was stitched on the back, and a little set of ropes blocked the stool off.
During its first week of existence at the bar, a man had sat himself on it, but was promptly escorted out with a snapped forearm due to Rowan’s favoured methods of—ahem—excusing clients from his bar.
Instead of boisterous locals and regulars, the bar was packed with the entire neighbourhood. There were families with their young, and there were groups of college-aged kids sneaking vodka from a flask one of them had brought along, and there were couples waving at babies—mouthing at one another about how it would be them next year, their baby being waved at.
It was a lovely atmosphere, everyone knew each other, and each person who walked through the front door received a greeting of cheers, and claps, and overall joy for their presence. Even Aelin herself, who had only been coming to the bar for a little while. Who had only been living in the neighbourhood for a little while. It seemed crazy to her, how easily the locals accepted her.
Rowan had introduced her to the rest of his Cadre, welcomed with hugs and smiles, by all but Lorcan. But she hadn’t expected much from him, he was notoriously rude and cruel upon first meeting.
Then she had mentioned a big-titted, vertically challenged brunette with the name Elide Lochan around him, and suddenly he wanted to know everything about her… friendship with the girl, and who the girl was, and if she’d ever consider visiting.
She had always known men were easy—but not that easy. Surely not a man with the level of combat experience Lorcan had, the emotional brick of a man that Lorcan Salvaterre was. Even his friends who had known him years and years and years, had never seen him act in such a way.
But it was ruined by one thing—and one thing only.
And she almost claimed it to be Lorcan, when Rowan cupped the apple of her cheek whilst he leant over the bar top and stared into her eyes, asking what had put such a long expression on her face.
She laughed numbly—irritated at The Thing—and made a comment about how he’d better not launch into one of his favourite ‘walked into a bar’ jokes. Because she had them memorised. And jotted down in the notes section of her phone. Ranked in six different ways—prepared for the day she could show him. (Likely their wedding, but that was still a way off).
He pulled her closer now, and Aelin was lost in the depth in his eyes, and the darkness they hid most days. But vulnerability never failed to show when she stared into them. “Aelin, I know you far too well to believe in the fact that nothing is bothering you. And you know me well enough, to know that I won’t let this go—not until I know the real reason.”
“Insatiable, I know. I know, Whitethorn.” She murmured quietly, slowly, as she felt the blood begin to drip from her ears, the music playing in the background murdering her ears. Doing more damage than any close-range shot could have ever done in a war zone.
She’d have to see a doctor soon, to check that the song playing truly hadn’t done any damage.
A kiss to her lips, and then a whispered, “So, why the long face?” followed by another kiss—this one the slightest bit indecent, a bribe, if she had ever seen one.
“The song.” She knew it would upset him, knew it. Because he had some strange, brain malfunction that made it so he loved the band currently playing, and especially loved the song currently playing. The song which made her ears bleed, and her eyes water, and her mouth dry up she hated it so much.
Words could not describe how much she hated Coldplay, nor could words describe how she felt for their Christmas song, Christmas Lights. She hated it.
The barracks she had lived in one deployment—which had lasted over Christmas—had loved it. She was in the middle, had heard enough not to mind, but wasn’t ever going to request it. But on soldier, one man was obsessed. He loved the band, and he loved Christmas, so their Christmas song was his favourite to play.
And gods, did he play it often. He played it so often she could tell anyone during how many of the lyrics had bombs had gone off, how many of the words had finished with a gunshot being heard. She could tell all of these facts, and yet still it would not quite explain the hate she harboured for the song.
Something about it just grated on her; killed her in every sense but the literal one.
And she wasn’t sure how to explain it to her Coldplay-loving, Christmas-loving, Christmas Lights by Coldplay-loving boyfriend, who had never the other man she knew who ticked all three boxes the same. Rowan adored the band and their sound. He had a playlist of purely their music he would listen to in the bar when doing menial work.
“I don’t like the song.”
“You don’t… you don’t like the song?” he parroted back, a little affront in his tone, but an open look in his eyes. As if he was curious why but saw enough of himself in Aelin that he knew not to ask why. Knew he wouldn’t find out why unless Aelin felt it right to tell him.
He spun around to face the back of the bar, located his phone, and skipped the song, playing the next. Soothed by the lack of the Coldplay, Aelin hummed to herself, and spun a little on the cracked leather bar stool. “Why did you do that, just skip it. You didn’t need to, there was only a little left in the song—and I know you like it, so why did you? I was just being overdramatic.” The words tumbled from her, because she hated that because of her, and her own silly little hang-ups, Rowan’s experience might have been affected, or ruined.
“Aelin, I turned it off because I want what is best for you. You obviously have reasons for not liking it, and I know enough about what you’ve been through to know that the best thing for you is to not hear it. Regardless of whether I like the song. Don’t you know that by now, Fireheart?”