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As you entered the pub, the floor vibrated as the speakers hung up around the large room pumped out music which made your eardrums feel as if they will implode, but you’re used to it by now. The room smells of alcohol, sweat and some sort of cover-up scent that isn’t doing it’s job too well, but in a way, it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s a Friday night, there’s a ton of people tonight; some squished together, dancing. Some are at booths, at the bar, just strewn about. You let out a big sigh and smooth out your clothing and brushing off any dirt you may have accumulated on accident.
You walk down the little small stairs that lead to the dance floor and bar area, your fingers brushing against the railing. You lift your head and weave your way through groups of people; it’s nearly suffocating but you get your way through to the bar, which you quickly snatch your usual seat. You squirm for a moment to get comfortable before pulling out your wallet, smiling warmly at the familiar bartender. “There you are, [name]!” The bartender laughs, making her way towards you. “I said I would be here, didn’t I?” You say just loud enough over the music, taking out your ID and a couple of dollars. Without a word, you slide over your ID and the money. “That’s your tip, I’ll be paying with card.” You mention. The bartender nods and only gives your ID a one second glance. You’ve been attending this establishment so long that she knows you aren’t underage, but required by law, she has to check. “Thank you, [name]!” She murmurs with a warm smile, pocketing the money. She slides your ID back over to you, grabbing a glass. “Your usual?” You nod even though she has already turned to grab your preferred drink. “Of course, Tyla. You know me so well.” You tease, leaning your elbow on the bar counter with your hand supporting your hand.
You glance around the room as she prepares your drink, your eyes scanning the crowds. You hear the clinking of glass to your side as your eyes scan for that one particular man; you always look for him. Tall, maybe around 6’0, 6’2” at most. He’s a hefty boy, his torso wide and his arms strong looking. You swear he has blue eyes, but you’ve never talked to him, so you don’t actually know. He has brown hair but he’s greying and that has got you hooked. You notice how he tends to either sit at the end of the bar or in the corner table that can see the entire room. The way he carries himself heavily suggests military, and damn you if you didn’t like someone who can handle intense situations.
“You’re lookin’ for him again, huh?” Tyla’s voice breaks your train of thought and causes you to turn to her. She sets your glass down in front of you, silently motioning to your ID. You grab it and stuff it back into its rightful place in your wallet, which you put into your pocket. “Who?” You ask, feigning cluelessness. Tyla snorts and puts her hands on the bar counter, leaning closer to you with a smirk. “I notice everything, love. You’re looking for him again. Have you asked for his name yet?”
Your face heats up and darkens with blood rushing to it from embarrassment. “No, but I’m nicknaming him Starboy in my head.”
Tyla laughs quietly as she reaches for a towel from a shelf underneath the bar counter. “Well, you and.. Starboy, you both have been eyeing each other like wolves eyeing their next meal for weeks.”
Your finger circles the rim of your drink as you eye her expression, your eyes narrowing. “No way he’s been looking at me.” Tyla pauses and looks at you with a mischievous expression. “Yes he has, he’s been noticing you for a lot longer than you’ve been noticing him.” She then hums as she suddenly moves down the bar to attend to another customer. Your jaw drops and you call out her name, saying “Hey, you can’t keep me hanging!”
“Mind if I sit here?” A low, rough and thick british accent speaks over the music and it makes you turn to look at whoever was speaking—and it was Starboy, and God was he even more attractive up close. Your eyes scan every feature on his face; and yes, his eyes are very blue. You take note of every freckle, every piece of facial hair—he had mutton chops, by the way, something you never found attractive until him—every scar. “Not at all,” You say with a dumb smile, gesturing to the seat next to you. Starboy puts his hand on the counter to balance himself as he slides into the seat next to you. He puts his hand out for a handshake, keeping his eyes trained on you. You kept eye contact the entire time, and he was just entrancing. “My name is Johnathan, but call me John.” He mellowed out, just loud enough above the music again. Without hesitation, you took his hand and shook it. You noticed how his grip was naturally firm and that his hands were callused. His warmth of his hand spread across your skin and you found yourself heating up. “Alright John,” You introduced yourself in return before letting go of his hand. You quickly grab your glass and take a swig for confidence, your heart hammering in your chest.
John raises his hand and Tyla comes over, a big smile on her face. “John! I see you met [name]!” She exclaims excitedly. John chuckles and nods. “Yes, we just met,” He says, taking out his wallet. He repeats the process you did earlier; a couple of dollars and an ID. She quickly whips up a drink for him and sets it down, eyeing you two before leaving. He takes a slow sip before a soft “ah” leaves his lips as he sets it down. “I couldn’t help but notice you were glancing at me every night we were both here, sweetheart. Can I call you that?” John says, his words smooth but his voice is a bit rough. You nod nearly damn instantly and you silently curse yourself out for that. “Yeah, that’s okay.” You murmur before taking another sip of your drink. “I will admit, I was eyeing you for quite a bit, Starboy.” You quip. “Can’t help it when a pretty man is within my grasp.” You say with a smile on your face. John’s eyebrows raise, a smirk forming on his face. “‘Pretty’, huh? That’s a new one. You think I’m pretty, do you?” John cocks his head a bit, taking another sip. You nod, leaning your head on your hand again. Your eyes go from his eyes to his features. His facial hair is well kept and you adore the bigger freckle right before the ball of his nose. John’s nose is on the bigger side too, and you adore the way his eyebrows are uneven. Even though he’s wearing a beanie—and has every single time you’ve seen this man—you have a feeling that he has a widows peak. He has worry lines across his forehead, too. He has a smack scar on his neck. You want to trail kisses to connect his freckles.
“Mhm, you’re definitely pretty,” You begin softly, snapping yourself out of the trance you found yourself in. “I have to ask, are you military? The way you carry yourself and the way you pick your seating, I can’t help but wonder.”
John hums as he takes another sip of his drink, keeping it in his hand. “Oh? How do I carry myself, love?”
Your eyes trail over his torso before quickly snapping back up to make eye contact again. Under his gaze, you feel so focused on. His full attention. It feels good. “Well, for one, your shoulders are square up-right and your posture is very good. Your steps seem methodical and calculated and your eyes never stop moving across the crowd, as if you’re searching for something only you can see. Either you’re military or a mercenary, but you don’t seem to be the mercenary type.”
John chuckles and shuffles his chair ever so slightly closer to yours and you welcome the closeness warmly. You absentmindedly note that he smells of rich cigars—flavor unknown to you—, a fading cologne and the smell of his drink on his breath. ‘I wonder if his lips taste like his whiskey?’
“Perceptive, are you? I can’t say much, it’s classified, but yes, I am military. You get some bonus points.” John responds, his eyes and his express are warm towards you. “What do you do, beautiful?” You felt a rush of euphoria run through your veins from the compliment.
“I work as a hacker for companies.” That causes John to raise his eyebrows and narrow his eyes, his body tending, but you laugh and quickly wave your hand around a bit. “No, not like that, I get paid to hack the companies systems to find weak spots so they can fix them. Sometimes I get paid to also help them upgrade.”
John relaxes at that information, slowly finishing his drink before setting his glass down on the table. You already finished yours. “That seems interesting. Have you accidentally found anything you weren’t supposed to?” John questions, never once his eyes leaving yours. You felt your cheeks heat up as you note that in your head, slightly leaning more towards him. “Multiple times. Anything illegal that harmed people, I reported.” You respond softly. Your soft tone causes John to lean in closer. Your heart skips a beat. “I don’t report anything that doesn’t harm peo— God, your eyes are so blue.” You interrupt yourself and then you blink rapidly when you realize your words. You laugh nervously, glancing at your empty glass in your hand as if it would save you from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I’m a bit tipsy.” John chuckles and this time, it damn near vibrates through your body, as if you were the one who laughed. “No worries, love. That drink smelled strong.”
John’s hand grabs the glass from yours, his other hand tipping your chin back up to make eye contact again. Your breath bitches as you do, your heart pounding in your throat. Every slight touch feels so hot against your skin. His eyes are a bit lidded. John’s hand moves to your cheek instead, his thumb stroking across the skin. “Maybe, I’m a bit tipsy, too.” He mumbles as he leans in and presses his lips against yours. Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder as you reciprocate the kiss with zero hesitation. Your lips move together in sync, tasting him. He tasted like Whiskey and mint, and you swear silently to yourself you’re already addicted.