Chapter Text
It had been almost a year since Olimar and his wife had separated. Just thinking about that fact made Olimar’s stomach sink even after all this time, but it couldn’t be helped.
He loved his ex-wife very much, and she had loved him too, but… something they don’t tell you when you get older is that love alone isn’t enough to sustain a marriage.
It takes time, something Olimar’s work schedule never allowed him to have. It also takes trust, something Olimar lacked after checking his ‘secret stash’ when he returned from a particularly long mission (it wasn’t the entire reason for their divorce, but it was certainly brought up in discussion).
Put simply, their desires didn’t align. They loved their family, and it still belonged to the both of them, but they both had gaps that the other person just… couldn’t seem to fill.
They’re still friends, he thinks. He loved her too much to end things on a bad note, but now he can’t tell how much of it is actually over. It’s been a few weeks since the last time they spoke outside of picking up and dropping off the kids to each other’s homes. He wondered if it was getting as awkward for her as it was for him.
Olimar took another sip of his drink to wash out the thought before it grew too heavy.
He knew that getting “back on the market” would be much more difficult at his age than it was when he and his wife first got together. He wasn’t that old, but he knew he wasn’t as attractive as he was in his 20s. At the very least, he figured going out to some sort of public space would be better than just sitting at home sulking.
Which is how he found himself at a local bar on a Thursday night. He wasn’t sure which would make him feel more divorced; coming on a weekend where it would be packed with liberated young people, or coming on a weeknight like tonight where it was only somewhat full of people who were mostly on the older side, but in groups. He saw a group of women laughing at a table to his far left.
At least some people were making the most of the evening.
Maybe if he was a bit braver, or a bit younger, he would have asked the bartender to send them drinks... just something, anything that would let him go home that night feeling as though he really did try to put himself out there. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He took another sip, gin sliding down his throat with burning shame.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. The thoughts of how his wi- ex-wife must be dealing with the aftermath slithered back into his mind. Between the two of them, she was always the more outgoing one… Okay, no, it’s not like she was perfect, but neither was-
“Olimar?”
Olimar snapped his head up and looked to his left, only to see a familiar blond standing before him with wide, hazel eyes.
“...Louie?”
—
“You’ve been working in a kitchen? That’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, uh… nothing crazy. Mostly dishes.”
Olimar had insisted Louie sit down at the bar with him so they could catch up. Louie, of course, seemed a bit like he wanted to hide in a dark corner for the next eternity, but Olimar hadn’t seen the man in what felt like ages.
The circumstances of Louie leaving Hocotate Freight have, for whatever reason, been a mystery that even the President had not confided in any of the other employees, including Olimar. The last time he saw Louie, he had been clocking out for what Olimar now knows was his last day at the company.
He remembered it like it was yesterday… wait, no, Louie’s new job. Focus.
“Well I suppose everyone has to start somewhere. It’s nice to hear that you’re breaking into your preferred industry!”
Louie grunted, “I ‘unno… Kinda wanna quit. I don’t think they trust me around the food.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
Louie glared at him.
Olimar elaborated, “Well... okay, I'm sure they take their food seriously. Even so, do you really want to leave something you’ve poured so much time and effort into?”
Olimar wasn’t sure why, but his stomach twisted at his own words.
Louie shrugged, fiddling with his straw as he stared into his now empty glass. Olimar quietly wondered why Louie would be at a bar if he was just going to drink water instead of any alcohol.
Or why Louie would even be at a bar to begin with.
“Mm, s’not like staying helps, though,” Louie started chewing on the paper straw, “You would know.”
Olimar’s eyebrows shot up as he looked to his former coworker, “Excuse me?”
His tonal shift must’ve been obvious, because Louie finally looked at him with incredulous eyes, “At Hoc’ Freight… you’ve been there forever with no pay raise…” Olimar is positive that he just saw Louie swallow the part of the straw he was just chewing on, “... right?”
Olimar exhaled, a bit embarrassed that he had jumped to such conclusions, “Oh, well, yes,” He chuckled, “Forgive me, I thought you were referring to something else.”
Louie raised an eyebrow, “What else would I be talking about?”
Right, he left before it happened.
“Ah… nothing important,” Olimar offered the younger man as natural a smile as he could muster, hoping Louie would keep being Louie and not care enough to pry further, “don’t worry about it.”
“... You’re being weird.”
Figures.
“Well- that reminds me, Louie,” Olimar pivoted, “What brings you here? I have to say I’m surprised you haven’t gotten anything for yourself yet.”
“Haven’t been here long. Maybe later. Smells good,” Louie replied plainly.
Of course Louie would be drawn to bar food; it's all rich and filling. Probably so people don’t get too drunk too fast.
“I see…” Olimar replied. Not that Louie was ever not weird, but the fact that the blond hadn’t ordered half the menu by now seemed extra odd, “… not a fan of alcohol, then?”
Louie shrugged, an unspoken ‘i dunno’, “I never have a reason to drink. Nana can’t. Drinking alone seems lame.”
If Olimar didn’t know Louie, he’d think he was being this cruel on purpose.
Once again, Louie must’ve gotten the hint and looked away a bit sheepishly, “Sorry, uh… I’m not used to talking… to you. Outside of work.”
“No, I understand. Believe me, this wasn’t my plan for the night either.”
“Oh… what was?”
“... I… I’m honestly not sure.”
“… Okay.”
There was a pause. A long, unsure pause. They looked everywhere but at each other.
Olimar honestly expected Louie to get up and leave without another word. Really, as irksome as his anti-social tendencies were when they were stuck in space and depended on communication to survive… Olimar found himself wanting to abandon ship. He was about to apologize for bothering him-
“So… still at Hoc’ Freight?”
Olimar looked up, surprised. The other man was miraculously still seated next to him, going back to nibbling his straw. The silence after the curt question reminded Olimar he still had to reply.
“Oh- yes, but it isn’t nearly as terrible as it used to be,” Olimar chuckled.
Louie raised an eyebrow.
“... The President stepped down. His wife has been taking care of the company in his stead, which has been a tremendous improvement.”
The corner of Louie’s mouth curled up ever so slightly, “The bar’s low. Couldn’t be that hard.”
“Oh I think she knows,” Olimar chuckled, “Having her come into management felt like a hurricane, but an oddly welcome one,” He wordlessly slid his empty glass to the bartender as she walked by, gesturing for another.
Louie hummed in response. He sounded bored, but Olimar could tell he was at least listening. That certainly wasn’t always the case with him.
Normally, Olimar would continue to carry the conversation with Louie in the rare circumstances that they would even have them. It usually wasn’t this difficult; even with the alcohol being a social lubricant for him, he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. By now he would’ve probably gone on a tangent about his son’s science fair project, or his daughter’s new haircut, or… anything to do with his family.
Were they really the only thing he had going for him besides work?
The idea of turning the conversation into one-sided couple’s counseling didn’t sit well with him, but at this point, neither did the idea of being left alone. Maybe that’s why he’s had no luck tonight; he couldn’t decide what he wanted.
The bartender slid him his second glass, and a new thought occurred to him.
He looked up at the blond, regarding him warmly.
“Say Louie, why don’t I buy you a drink? Pick whichever you’d like, it’s on me.”
Louie met his gaze, but based on the look he had, he was clearly not expecting the proposal.
“... Why?”
“You said you don’t like the idea of drinking alone, right? I don’t either. You deserve the chance to try something you haven’t been able to before!” Olimar reasoned, “Think of it as an opportunity to expand your palette.”
Louie glanced down at the bar counter, as if in thought. He drummed his fingers on the laminated wood before answering.
“... Get me a blooming onion, too.”
Maybe he just wanted free food the whole time.
Olimar didn’t care.
“Deal.”
—
Louie had trouble deciding which cocktail he wanted to try, and asked the bartender several questions about the flavor profiles, alcohol percentages, and even the vessels they were served in. It was good to see Louie being smart about his drinking choices, but the fact that he had spoken to the bartender more than Olimar himself made his stomach twist with… something.
He ended up getting a moscow mule, and Olimar was sure that Louie mainly got it because of the copper mug it was served in. He saw the younger man’s eyes light up ever so slightly when the bartender slid him the drink. How endearing.
That all happened nearly two hours, however.
In the present, the two of them were drunkenly laughing their asses off over… who knows what at this point, pounding their fists on the bar counter and struggling to catch their breath. After several rounds of appetizers, Louie was now on his second drink, and Olimar on his fourth.
“Louie, y-” Olimar giggled as he spoke, “You can’t just- n-NAME a priceless artifact something like that..!!”
“‘Kay, FIRST of all,” Louie raised a finger as he spoke/slurred, “S’not priceless. President prob’bly would’ve sold it for a couple hundred poko or somethin’.”
“Hehe-he’s not-”
“SECOND of all!!!” Louie laughed as he interjected again, causing Olimar to giggle even more, “I mean- okay lo-listen. Contemplas- Contemplation Station is fine. Okay? Cool name. I just think… ‘Dick and B-.”
“LOUIEE-!!” Olimar playfully shoved Louie, who didn’t budge from the contact at all (huh, was Olimar weak or was Louie just sturdy?), “Shhhhshh don’t-,” His shushing was overpowered by his own giggling. He gripped the fabric of Louie’s hoodie on his shoulder with both hands, practically fighting for his life, “Louie, if you say it I’m- ‘m going to die. Please spare me.”
In a way, he wasn’t lying. He could feel his brain sloshing around in his skull after the third drink, and the closer he got to the bottom of his fourth, the less he could recognize his voice as his own. He was probably too old to be drinking like he was still Louie’s age.
Louie was nowhere near as trashed as him, but it was obvious that the drinks had loosened him up some. He seemed more… comfortable. He didn’t even seem bothered by Olimar touching him this much.
With a smile worth exactly 2 poko, Louie stared into Olimar’s eyes without saying a word. Olimar stared back, but felt himself break a sweat at the intensity of the other man’s gaze. Huh.. he hadn’t noticed until now just how striking Louie’s eyes were. They were hazel, but on closer inspection they actually looked… golden. He realized he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He then realized he didn’t want to look away, either.
Louie’s smile widened mischievously, and before Olimar could ask why-
“Dick and Balls.”
Yep, Olimar died.
Both of them did, actually.
Olimar threw his head back and practically howled with laughter over such a juvenile statement, but he couldn’t help it. It sounded so absurd coming out of Louie’s mouth; has he always been this silly? The idea of seeing more of this side of the other man made him feel warm inside. In fact, he felt warm all over.
As he thoughtlessly pounded down what was left of his drink, he realized he was hot all over. His eyes widened as he realized he instantly just went from warm and fuzzy to hot and sweaty.
“Oh stars.”
Louie’s over-the-top chortling got quieter and quieter when he heard Olimar’s stop. He looked at the shorter man, who was now tomato red and fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt collar, apparently trying to undo them. His gaze lingered on Olimar’s busy hands a little too long after the older man had managed to undo the first two buttons. Louie snapped his head in the other direction the second Olimar finished undoing the third.
“You, uh…” Louie drummed his fingers on the counter again (must be a nervous habit) and tentatively looked back at Olimar again, “You doing okay, Oli?”
If Olimar didn’t feel like he was being roasted over an open flame, he would’ve appreciated the nickname more, “Ah, I’m…” He swallowed thickly, “I feel hot. A-are the windows closed? I need air- NO, I-” He covered his mouth as something tried to come up through his throat. He exhaled shakily, “I-I need water, please.”
The bartender must’ve gotten the hint earlier, because it was only at this moment that he realized there was a slightly melted glass of ice water sitting in front of him that he doesn’t remember asking for prior.
He took a few generous gulps before clanking the glass down back on the already-soaked coaster it was sitting on. He then wiped the condensation that stuck to his hand on his face in a vain attempt to cool himself off further.
“Uh… do you need me to-”
“I’m fine, I’m fine- I just…” Olimar ungracefully got down from his barstool, knees immediately buckling under his own weight. Louie grabbed his arm just before he could completely stumble to the ground, and used his other arm to prop himself up on the stool he was just sitting at.
“Th-thank you Louie, could-” Another thick gulp, “Could you walk me to the restroom?”
Louie got down from his barstool to adjust his hold on Olimar. He wrapped one arm underneath the other’s shoulders as they hobbled to the bathroom, which was thankfully single occupancy. On the way there he realized they were pretty much the only two people left in the bar, for better or worse.
Olimar lightly patted Louie’s shoulder, “I can go from here, but I’ll yell if I need anything… okay?”
Louie seemed hesitant to let him go, but nodded and slinked his arm out from under the other man. Olimar weakly opened the door and shut it behind him.
Olimar b-lined to the sink, flipped the handle on the faucet and immediately began splashing as much cold water on his face as he could, rubbing and patting it on the sides of his face and ears. After a few seconds his legs were getting tired of standing, so he gripped the sides of the porcelain sink to keep himself upright.
He stared at his disheveled self in the mirror; panting, red, and soaking wet with both sweat and tap water. For a while, he just stood there, trying to catch his breath and collect himself. The water trailed down his neck, slightly soaking his shirt collar further. The mirror itself was stained and scratched along the sides, no doubt from previous drunken customers trying to carve their initials. It was all mostly gibberish to Olimar, but there was one carving in the lower right corner that clearly spelled “N + P”.
He felt his face drain.
Suddenly he had to throw up.
He pushed himself off of the sink counter to give himself enough momentum to stumble to a kneel in front of the toilet on the other side of the bathroom. Under any other circumstances he’d be too disgusted to touch even the handle of this toilet with his hands, let alone grip the sides of it.
As if on cue, he heard a knock at the door.
“Oli, you good in there?” Louie’s voice was muffled from the door, but it also sounded like he was talking with his mouth full.
Olimar groaned, not having the ability to talk in this situation.
He supposed Louie was fluent in nonverbal sounds, because the younger man took it as an invitation to open the door. He was holding a plastic red basket of... something in one hand as he held the door open with the other.
“Um…” Louie chewed with uncertainty, “Should I, uh… stay, or…?”
“L-” Olimar tried his best to form words, but found himself cut short by his body’s own lurching.
Louie set the basket down on the lid of the tank (gross) and sped off.
Before Olimar could say anything, he lurched again, this time actually purging. His grip on the sides of the bowl got tighter as tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
Louie ran back in and set something else on the tank lid that sounded like glass. For a while he just awkwardly stood there, eventually backing up as the smell was starting to get to him. Olimar could feel his presence, and even his uncertainty, to an extent. He probably didn’t know whether or not he should comfort him, or if he even could.
Olimar’s lurching eventually slowed down, until all he was doing was inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, spitting, over and over again.
When his breathing finally slowed to a normal pace, he heard Louie come over and pick up something from the tank lid. He kneeled down and held whatever it was out to him.
“Drink.”
Olimar didn’t look up as he laughed, and the action burned his throat even more, “I’ve…” He cleared his throat, “definitely had enough-”
“It’s water, Oli.”
“Oh.”
He took the water with both hands and began gulping it down, as though he forgot how good it tasted.
“Slower.”
Olimar hummed, drinking at a more normal pace.
When he finished the glass he handed it back to Louie and sat on his heels, throwing his head back from the toilet bowl and groaning.
“Thanks, Lou…” He was still slightly panting.
“... Yeah,” Louie replied flatly.
There was a gap in conversation. For what felt like a long time, Olimar and Louie just sat next to each other on the floor of a less-than-spotless bar bathroom, likely well after closing.
At some point, Louie grabbed the red basket that he set down earlier and started eating… cheese curds? He didn’t care enough to ask when he even ordered those. Louie wordlessly offered him some, but he held up his hand to decline.
“Do you,” Louie popped another curd into his mouth, “Need me to call your wife? Like-” He eats another, “-to come get you?”
Olimar’s vision suddenly got blurrier, and the knots in his stomach got tighter. He’d rather keep puking than have this conversation.
“Wh… huh?” Was all he could muster, giving Louie a look that he must’ve found upsetting enough to stop eating.
“Your… wife?” Louie gave him an incredulous look, “The person you’d never stop talking about at work? I know you’re drunk but there’s no way you don’t-“
“I know who you mean,” Olimar replied in a much harsher tone than he intended. He really didn’t have a good grasp on his own tone of voice at this point anyways. This all just felt like some weird, sad dream.
“Okay… so should I call her-?”
“No.”
“Why not? I can’t drive you, I don’t have a car. I don’t see the point in calling you a cab if you actually have a car.”
Fun fact: it’s now his ex wife’s car.
Olimar sucked air through his teeth, “That’s not the point.”
“There’s a point to this? Shouldn’t the point be for you to go home? You know, to your family-“
“They’re not my family anymore, I-“ Olimar’s voice cracked as quickly as it rose, “No, they are, th-they’re still… they…” He ran a hand across his face and through his own thinning hair. He was hot again. Pale hot.
The pungent humidity of the bathroom was weighing him down. Suffocating him. He found it difficult to breathe through lungs that didn’t feel like his own. His head was spinning. Everything around him was crumbling. There were so many different ways this night could’ve gone. He thought the worst case would be going home alone and defeated, but this was much worse. Louie was actively trying to find a safe way to get Olimar home when he was the one who asked the other to stay for drinks… this was the most responsible, reasonable thing Louie has probably ever done, and Olimar wasn’t anywhere near sober enough to appreciate it.
Louie watched him, expression now unreadable. The gears in both their minds were turning as they both quietly tried to reach the same page. One of them had the answer, one didn’t. One of them was ready for the answer, one of them wasn’t.
Olimar forced himself to breathe, and willed himself to speak.
“… Louie, I…” Olimar croaked, “I am… not … i-in the right mind… to explain my situation,” He cradled his head in his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m so…” He gripped his head, fighting back sobs with his eyes squeezed shut.
Louie’s expression didn’t change. He actually seemed pretty neutral, or maybe he stopped paying attention.
You could practically hear the gears turning in Louie’s head. He furrowed his brow slightly.
“Shit, man… did your wife cheat on you?”
Olimar didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t tell whether it was the tone, the actual answer in comparison to Louie’s, the situation itself, or all of them combined. The sheer absurdity of Louie’s response snapped Olimar out of what was likely going to be a panic attack. It might’ve even sobered him up a little bit (not nearly enough, but he felt it).
Olimar looked up, but not at Louie. He just stared at the nothing in between Louie and the toilet. The walls were bare and off-white, with a handful of scratches and scrawls similar to those on the mirror. He wasn’t paying much attention to them.
He thought about Louie’s response again. He giggled. He put a hand over his mouth and giggled to himself like a little kid trying not to get caught doing so.
“N-No no, Louie, I-“ He cut himself off with his own laugh. He held up an index finger as he paused to try and collect himself before speaking.
If he was sober enough, maybe that would’ve worked. But he wasn’t. So he kept giggling, bringing his knees up to his face to hide himself, shoulders shaking as he failed to hold his laughter back. It came out muffled, but hysterical.
Free. Olimar felt free.
Louie… Louie looked dumbfounded.
“What’s happening right now,” Louie asked flatly over the sound of Olimar slapping his own knee repeatedly. His eyes were doing that bulging thing they did whenever he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Olimar took a couple shaky breaths until he eventually sighed the most relaxing sigh he could muster. He finally turned his head and met Louie’s gaze. With an exhausted smile, Olimar said:
“I’m fucking divorced, Louie.”
—
It was honestly a miracle that the bartender, the only other person left in the building, was kind enough to call a cab for the two of them. Or maybe they’re just required to do that. Olimar didn’t know, but he figured they must have a protocol for things like this. He was a little too far gone to feel as ashamed as he should, but he knew he’d feel secondhand embarrassment for his current self in the morning.
The bartender and Louie helped Olimar into the backseat of the car. As he sat down on the soft but well-worn pleather seats, exhaustion was starting to catch up to him. He was still awake, but he felt asleep. Someone clipped his seatbelt in for him (Louie?) and shut the door on his side.
He heard the door on the other side of him open, as well as muffled chatter from just outside of it. It all sounded like white noise to Olimar, but he’s pretty sure he heard a “thanks” and “his tab” in there somewhere.
Eventually he heard the door shut and the sound of a seatbelt being clicked into place.
He felt a nudge at his side.
“H-uh?”
“Oli, where do you live?”
“Uhm…” He told them the name of the apartment building he’d been living in. There’s no way he’d be able to list off the address to them right now, though. Too many numbers.
Thankfully, the cab driver must know the area well, because he started driving away from the bar, which Olimar could still see illuminated from the passenger side mirror. They’re probably still cleaning up the mess they (mostly he) left. He’ll have to remember to properly apologize when he’s sobered up.
“Lou…?” Olimar lulled his head to the other’s side.
“Hm?”
“Where’re we going…?”
“... Your place, Oli.”
“Oh…” Olimar looked out the window again. After exactly 10 seconds, he lulled his head in the other’s direction again, “... Louie?”
No response.
“Louieee?”
“...”
“Lou?”
“... Yeah?”
“I’m hungry… can we get something?”
Olimar could barely keep his eyes open, so he couldn’t see this for himself, but he could just hear the wide grin in Louie’s voice when he replied.
“Olimar, that’s the best thing you’ve said all night.”
–
A half hour and two drive-thru burritos later (Louie made a hell of a compelling argument to get the driver to take a detour) the cab finally slowed to a stop in front of an unremarkable apartment building. Both of them had practically inhaled their food, which may not have been surprising in Louie’s case, but Olimar had been much hungrier than usual. Funny how throwing up does that to you.
Louie unbuckled himself before going around and helping Olimar out of his seat, looping his arm under the other man’s so that they were in a “half-hug” position. Their height difference made it a little awkward, but Louie’s posture was always terrible, so hunching over like this wasn’t overly inconvenient for him.
In fact, Louie didn’t look like he was struggling to support Olimar’s weight at all. The two of them began walking into the building (thankfully the desk clerk paid them no mind) with Louie clearly doing most of the work. Even in his drunken haze, Olimar could appreciate how sturdy he was.
Maybe a little too much.
“Lou… when’d you get so strong..?” Olimar unconsciously squeezed Louie’s waist, who squeaked in response. Hehe. Cute.
They stopped in front of an elevator.
“W-which floor?” Louie asked.
“Mmm… fourrrr- five.”
Louie hit a button and with a *ding!*, it opened.
The two stepped inside and Louie clicked another button, probably for the fifth floor, and they stood together as the doors closed and the box rose.
No royalty-free music to fill the atmosphere aside from the mechanical sounds of the elevator itself.
Olimar giggled to himself.
Louie said nothing.
“Y'know… it’s funny, Lou…” Olimar leaned his head on Louie’s shoulder. He was warm, “I really didn’t think anyone would come home with me, tonight… I mean, look at me,” He sloppily gestured to himself with his free hand, leaning enough on Louie to make him stumble momentarily.
Louie, again, said nothing.
“But… y’know what?” Olimar blearily looked up at Louie, whose face was dusted pink. Weird, Olimar thought the blond had sobered up by now…
Olimar smiled, “Out of everyone… I’m glad it’s you.”
*ding!*
The second those metal doors opened, Louie booked it down the hall with Olimar in tow. His face had gotten pinker.
“W-wait, Louie-”
Louie pursed his lips.
“It’s the other way… 513.”
Louie sighed in defeat, and turned the other way to walk at a more normal pace.
When they got to the door, Louie fished the keys out of Olimar’s pockets (who snorted at the tickly feeling of it) and let them both inside.
“It’s a mess, don’t even look at it,” Olimar said as they walked through his… bachelor pad. Amazing how even in this state, Olimar was trying to be a humble host.
Louie eventually found Olimar’s room and laid him down on the twin bed, which was as far as he was gonna go.
“Okay, uh… bye,” He started to walk away.
“Wh- no! Louie!”
Louie stopped in his tracks in the doorway and threw his head back with a groan, not even turning back to Olimar.
“You’re not just gonna walk home… are you?”
“... Yeah?”
“It’s… past midnight, or something… Don’t you live in the countryside..?”
“...”
“Lou, take the couch. It’s fine.”
Louie muttered something that Olimar couldn't hear.
“Lou?”
“... ‘Night, Oli.”
Louie walked out, leaving the door open just a crack behind him.
Olimar shut his eyes and listened in case Louie decided to leave anyways, but the second he heard rustling on the couch instead of the front door opening and closing, he took it as a sign that Louie really was staying.
Olimar sighed with relief, finally allowing fatigue to wash over him. He felt sticky, dirty, and a little guilty, but above all else felt exhausted.
Sleep took over, and for the first time in who knew how long, Olimar didn’t feel so alone in the night.