Chapter Text
Lighter slipped his keys into his pocket. His front door was locked. He hung his head, sighing deeply. He didn’t want to do this. But he’d finished off his whiskey last night, and right now he needed a drink, and he needed it bad.
The night wasn’t getting any younger. Time to head to her bar.
About a week had passed since Big Daddy brought him here, introduced him to everyone, and formally welcomed him to the Sons of Calydon. Everyone seemed nice enough, if a bit eccentric. They seemed to get along very well in spite of, maybe even because of, their quirks. They must be good company.
Shame he was anything but. He was sure talking to any of his fellow Sons would be a great time... for him. But he was just as sure they’d hate every second they had to spend around him. So for their sake, he’d been keeping his distance. How grimly amusing, he thought to himself, that he was walking himself right into the den of the only person who’d forced him to save her from her own misguided excitement.
Over the last week, Lighter had learned that hearing his name out loud probably meant one of two things: either Big Daddy had work for him, or it was time to run away from Burnice again. He couldn’t understand what that woman’s deal was. What did she see in him that made her think he was worth spending her time on? All the other Sons saw him keeping to the shadows where he belonged and let him be. Burnice? If he wasn’t so committed to staying in those shadows, he never would’ve been able to keep hiding from her every time she came bouncing over, blazing with a want to know him that he didn’t have the heart to watch die out.
Lighter stopped. He’d arrived. The bar stood before him. He hung his head again. He hated this. He hated hating himself, he hated that he was so committed to squandering the chance Big Daddy had given him to start a new chapter in his life, he hated that Big Daddy thought he was worthy of receiving that chance in the first place. He only ever ended up hurting the people around him. Even the acquaintances he made outside the ring always kept their distance after he ended their winning streaks. Big Daddy shouldn’t have brought him here. He shouldn’t have let Big Daddy bring him here.
It hurt so much when he remembered who was in that bar. He shut his eyes. Why did she have to be so happy, so bright? He didn’t want to see her frown the way he knew she would once she found out he wasn’t worth her time after all. He didn’t want to see her be anything less than the blinding star of vibrant joy he’d been running from all week.
Something changed as he thought about that star. Lighter lifted his head. Sure, he hated this, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to let things stay like this. It had been a long time since he talked to anyone about anything that wasn’t business or fighting. Between that, and his general demeanor, and the fact that nothing good ever came from spending time with him, he didn’t think this was going to be anything less than a disaster.
But for Burnice, for the first person in years who hadn’t wanted to be his friend for money or sport, he wanted to try. Lighter still couldn’t imagine what she saw in him, but she must see something. She must see someone worth chasing after, someone so worth knowing that she wouldn’t give up until she did. Maybe she was right. He wanted to believe that she was right. He took his final steps toward her bar and pushed open the door.
He hoped she’d forgive him if she was wrong.
When Lighter entered the bar, Burnice was bobbing her head left and right to the beat of the song playing from the speaker in the ceiling. When she saw Lighter, she started bouncing giddily and waving at him like she’d never been so excited to see someone in her entire life.
“Hi, Lighter!! Come on in, sit wherever you like! If you can’t decide on a seat, I’m a big fan of this one.” Burnice pointed to a stool that was, so far as Lighter could tell, identical to all the others. He took her advice. Actually sitting in it, he was convinced that there was nothing special about it, but she seemed happy that he’d given it a try, so there was that, at least.
“Wow, this is so exciting, Lighter!! I’m so happy you finally came by the bar, I’ve been trying to hang out with you all week!”
“I noticed.” Lighter winced, immediately realizing what an awful thing that was to say to someone. “It’s nothing personal. I haven’t spent time with anyone this week. I’m. Bad company. Thought I’d save you the disappointment.”
There it was. He’d hurt her. It was subtle, but her light was dimmer, her smile had drooped a touch, she’d stopped bouncing. Had he even been here a full minute? He wasn’t sure he’d ever won a match as fast as he’d broken this poor woman’s heart. Lighter got ready to walk himself back home before he did anything worse.
“That’s OK!” Wait, now Burnice was beaming as bright as usual. Had she ever been upset at all? Had it all been in his head?
“You’re here now,” Burnice continued, “so now we can be friends! Plus you get to see why they say I run the best bar in the Outer Ring. Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Whiskey, please.”
“Sure I can’t add a little something to it? I’ve got lots of options! I’ve got simple syrup, Nitro-Fuel, club soda, Nitro-Fuel, grapefruit juice, Nitro-Fuel...”
“Just whiskey’s fine.”
“Okey-dokey!”
Huh. Lighter had thought Burnice would be disappointed, but she kept smiling, totally unfazed, as she walked over to her bottles.
“Bourbon alright?”
“Sure.”
“Neat or on the rocks?”
“Neat.”
“Done!” Burnice handed him a glass of neat bourbon. That had been shockingly painless.
“Thanks,” Lighter said. “Been a long time since I was in a bar with options.”
“You’re totally welcome! Glad I could break your streak of only visiting lame bars. I wouldn’t be much of a bartender if I didn’t sweat the small stuff.”
“Suppose so.”
Another patron flagged Burnice down, so she went over to see what they needed. Lighter took a sip of his bourbon. It was good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had whiskey nicer than the cheapest option on the lowest shelf.
“So, Lighter.” Burnice, done serving her other customers, leaned over the bar next to him, plopping her chin into her hands. “Where ya from?”
Did he want to answer that? Not really. “Around,” he said.
“Same. I feel like I definitely used to live somewhere that wasn’t here, but it’s not like it really matters, ‘cause we’re both here now!”
“Sure.” Lighter took another drink.
“How’d you meet Big Daddy? I think he said something about hiring you to do something, but I was too busy trying to guess your favorite flavor of Nitro-Fuel to pay attention. Is it lemon-lime? I feel like it’s lemon-lime.”
Lighter decided to ignore the Nitro-Fuel question for now – he was pretty sure telling Burnice it made him feel unwell would actually ruin her night – but he didn’t want to talk about the fighting ring, either. “He uh. Ran into me. Around. He made me an offer. Made sense to take it. Happy accident, I guess.”
“Very happy! You got to join the coolest gang in the Outer Ring, after all, and we’re a pretty exclusive club.” Burnice tapped her finger to her chin. “Hmm, what else do friends need to know about each other... Oh! What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Ooo, black is cool, good choice. You should guess what mine is!”
Realizing he wasn’t going to be able to answer that staring at the bar, he lifted his head, and for the first time, Lighter really saw Burnice. In his mind, she hadn’t been much more than a shiny, bubbly siren, blaring his name from the beacon of blonde atop her head. Turned out that it mostly shone like that thanks to all the black she wore. But if her favorite color was black, she would’ve said “me too!” and been much more excited about it than “that’s cool.”
So he kept looking, and he saw the black wasn’t just bringing out the color in her hair, it was bringing out the color in the belts on her legs, in the cuffs of her jacket, in the ROCK halter around her neck and shoulders. And all of those, he saw, brought out the color in her eyes. How hadn’t he noticed her eyes before? They were so bright, so full of love for life, such a beautiful shade of...
“Red,” Lighter said.
“Wow, that’s it! Nice job, Lighter, no one ever gets that right! I think that deserves a refill. Want one?”
Lighter downed the rest of his whiskey. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Just bourbon again?”
“Rocks this time.” Wouldn’t kill him to try something new.
“You got it!” A moment later, Burnice handed him his drink. “Ooo!”
She was pointing to his jacket, to a patch that read “WILDFIRE.”
“That’s super cool,” she said. “I love fire!”
Lighter had to wonder if Burnice, wearing a jacket decked out in flames, sporting a pair of FIREs in her hair, truly thought he might not have put that together on his own. “You don’t say,” he ultimately replied, once he was pretty sure that she was being entirely earnest.
“I do say! And I’ll keep saying it until my life’s all over, and I get to go the great big fire in the sky.”
Lighter raised an eyebrow. “The sun?”
Burnice gasped. “Oh my god, I’d totally forgotten the sun was made of fire!! Now the next time Lucy says ‘there’s no great big fire in the sky, Burnice,’ I can finally prove that I’m right! Thanks, Lighter!”
“Happy to help, I guess.” He drank from his new glass of whiskey. Better than the last. He was surprised just ice could add so much.
For the next several minutes, Lighter kept drinking as he watched Burnice work. She fascinated him. She had to keep up conversations with the other patrons, mixing their orders as she talked, and move pretty fast so she could get to the next one. He would’ve been an anxious wreck, but Burnice? For Burnice it was natural, like nothing could be easier, like she was completely and totally free from every trouble in the world.
Had he ever felt that free? Had he ever been that happy? Lighter genuinely couldn’t remember.
Eventually, Burnice walked back over to his part of the bar. He cleared his throat.
“What do people usually guess?”
Burnice turned around and cocked her head.
“Your favorite color. You said no one ever gets it right. What do people guess instead of red?”
She shrugged. “Most people don’t guess at all actually! I get ‘I dunno, what is it,’ more than anything else.”
Lighter frowned. “That’s rude of them.”
“Eh, I don’t blame ‘em, it’s so tough to guess favorite colors! And on the bright side, it makes it all the more fun when someone does guess – like you did! So thanks for playing along!”
“Of course, Burnice. I was happy to.” Guessing red wasn’t hard, but she was right: it had been kinda fun.
Lighter went to polish off the last of his whiskey. He was a little alarmed when he felt something round brush against his lips. He lifted his glass to see what it was.
Atop the ice at the bottom sat a single maraschino cherry.
Burnice grinned mischievously. “Heehee. That’s your reward for guessing red correctly!”
Lighter cracked the very faintest of smiles. “Thought it tasted different,” he said. He ate the cherry, and he savored every moment. He’d forgotten how much he loved these damn things.
On principle, maybe he should’ve been upset that Burnice had no qualms slipping things into his drink that he hadn’t asked for. In truth? The straight bourbon was great, but god how he’d wished, with every sip, for something sweeter. Surely she couldn’t have known he had a sweet tooth from half an hour in her bar and several failed attempts to talk to him before tonight. To Burnice, that tiny maraschino was probably just a bit of cheeky fun.
To Lighter, he was pretty sure it was the best thing that had happened to him since Big Daddy brought him here.
Lighter’s smile didn’t last long. Thinking about Big Daddy made him think about the past. He figured it was probably time to go lose sleep wrestling with it.
“I gotta hit the hay, Burnice.” Lighter stood. He left a handful of Dennies on the counter. “Thanks for the whiskey. I’ll see you ‘round.”
“See ya later, Lighter! Don’t be a stranger!”
Lighter stopped when he got to the door. “Burnice?”
She looked up from the register.
“I’m sorry I avoided you all week. It really wasn’t personal. I hope I can make it up to you sometime.”
Burnice smiled. “It’s OK!! We got to hang out tonight, and that’s all I really wanted in the first place! If anything...” Burnice walked over to join him by the door, pointing a finger at him in a way that might’ve said “I’m upset with you” if she wasn’t still smiling. “You should apologize for lying to me. You’re great company! So if you reeeally wanna make it up to me for making me wait all week before we got to know each other... we should totally get lunch tomorrow!”
Another tiny smile found its way onto Lighter’s face. “Sure, Burnice. See you tomorrow.”
A week or so later, Lighter walked back into Burnice’s bar. Once again, he found her bobbing her head to the music overhead, mouthing the lyrics as she cleaned a couple glasses.
“Hi, Burnice,” Lighter said, taking a seat in Burnice’s favorite stool.
“Hiya, Lighter! How’s it hangin’?”
“Not bad. Sorry I missed you at lunch the last couple days. Big Daddy’s been working me overtime.”
“That’s OK! He does that sometimes. There’s always tomorrow!”
Despite having lunch with Burnice almost every day since the last time he came to her bar, Lighter was still struggling to give her much to work with. He was relieved, when he finally admitted that Nitro-Fuel made him dizzy, that that wasn’t a dealbreaker for her. “Oh no,” she’d said, “you’re one of the people who gets the side effects? That’s terrible, Lighter, I’m so sorry for you!!” Once he assured her he wasn’t bothered by hearing her talk about something that made him feel sick, she got right back to gushing about her favorite flavors, tidbits about how Nitro-Fuel was made, and all the insane things she wanted to do with her troublingly flammable energy drink of choice.
Even though their conversations were pretty one-sided, it didn’t take him long to stop feeling bad about it. Burnice looked so happy telling stories about dangerous stunts she’d pulled off in the Hollows, Caesar and Lucy’s pettiest arguments, and all her favorite memories of life with the Sons of Calydon. Hearing and seeing her like that made him happy too. Lighter still didn’t understand what Burnice saw in him, but whatever it was, he sure was grateful that it was good enough to form a friendship over.
“After all that work you’ve been up to lately,” Burnice said, rousing him out of his thoughts, “I bet you’re here for more than just to catch up with me. Want a drink?”
“Sure do,” Lighter said.
“Ever tried an old-fashioned?”
“Uh. An old-fashioned what?”
“I’ll take that as a no! An old-fashioned is a cocktail," Burnice explained. "You take bourbon, add a little syrup and some bitters – don’t worry, it’s not that bitter! – add a cherry, and there you have it! I think you’d like it a lot.”
No point in pretending he didn’t want another maraschino. “Sure,” Lighter said, “I’ll give it a shot.”
“Ooo, shots are fun! That’s funny, you didn’t strike me as the ‘shots’ type.”
Lighter smiled. He was getting better at it. “I think you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh right!” Done stirring his drink, she added the cherry and handed him the old-fashioned. “I totally forgot there are other kinds of shots! Sorry, got caught up in work mode.”
“Never apologize for dedication to your craft, Burnice,” Lighter said. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
“Aww, thanks Lighter, that’s so sweet! Speaking of sweet, take a sip, tell me what you think!”
He sipped. “It’s good,” he said. “Different, but I like it.”
“Yay! I love sharing new drinks with people, it's one of my favorite parts of bartending.”
“How do you figure out what to suggest?”
Burnice started walking Lighter through her method. It was incredible what she could glean from tiny details in people’s faces and short conversations as she mixed. She talked about how most people’s noses crinkled when they really liked a flavor, she talked about how favorite colors usually correlated to favorite spirits (he was the rare whiskey lover whose favorite color wasn’t green, apparently), she talked about all sorts of details Lighter never would’ve thought could matter for sussing out a person’s tastes.
It was fascinating, which made it all the stranger when he suddenly let out a big yawn. “Mmm, sorry. Promise I’m not bored. I don't know where that came from, I shouldn't be tired tonight. Lucy took longer than usual this morning to come up with something to bicker with Caesar about, so I actually got to sleep in this morning.”
Burnice gasped. “Lighter! Was that a joke?? You tell jokes???”
They both laughed. Lighter threw back the rest of his drink, which he’d been working through as Burnice spilled her trade secrets. “Now and then, when one comes to mind.”
“That’s awesome! Want something else to help get the juices flowing?”
“Sure. Any other drinks you think I’d like?”
“Totally!”
“Surprise me then.”
“You got it!”
Lighter relished the cherry from his old-fashioned while she worked on his surprise. Looked like there was more bourbon in it, which was a good sign, though honestly, as long as another maraschino ended up in his glass, she could fill it with raw sewage for all he cared.
Right as he finished chewing, Burnice handed him his new drink. “Bon appétit!”
“I think that’s just for food,” Lighter said. He took a whiff of what she’d handed him. Wasn’t sewage.
“If you say so! Give it a try, I gotta know what you think!”
He gave it a try. “Mm! That’s your best work yet, Burnice. What is it?”
“Hey, thanks! It’s called a whiskey sour. Dunno why, it’s not actually that sour, but it’s a classic, lots of people love it! Not enough Nitro-Fuel for my tastes, though.”
“Is there ever enough Nitro-Fuel for your tastes?”
“Nope!” Burnice seemed unsure why Lighter was chuckling, but she quickly shrugged and got back to bartending.
A fresh batch of customers walked in, so Burnice went over to serve them. Now that he knew how her brain ticked as she worked, he found watching her more intriguing than ever. Intoxicating, even. He got hung up again on how free she seemed. How could she be that carefree? How could she just go from one thing to the next, no matter how many things there were, without ever faltering? It was like the thought had never entered her head that things might not go the way they were supposed to.
Lighter didn’t remember pulling out his dog tags, but he suddenly realized they were in his hand. Was he so drunk he couldn’t keep track of his actions? Was taking the whiskey sour a mistake, nothing more than the old-fashioned talking for him? Not like he needed to be drunk to make a terrible decision. Hence the dog tags.
He hoped Burnice never learned. He hoped she never found out that sometimes things went wrong, that sometimes they went very wrong, that outside this bar was a world defined by what went wrong, a world that didn’t especially care if you had to keep living after whatever disaster made you realize you weren’t some special hero who never had to know what it was like when things went wrong.
“Phew! What a rush,” Burnice said, walking back over to Lighter. “Y’know, I feel like I’ve had a lot more business since you came to town. You’re not advertising for me on the side, are you?”
Lighter kept staring at his dog tags.
Burnice leaned down to get a closer look. “Those’re cool. Where’d you get ‘em?”
Lighter cringed. Why did she have to ask him that? He didn’t want to go back to not talking to Burnice. He loved talking to Burnice. Knowing he’d get to talk to Burnice, even though it was mostly just listening to Burnice talk, was all that was getting him out of bed some mornings.
But he couldn’t talk about this. He just couldn’t.
He had no idea how much time passed before he finally answered her. All he managed was a quiet “long story.” He kept staring at his dog tags. He knew her face had changed. He knew he’d just snuffed out her usual radiant excitement. Pity, sadness, anything but her smile: whatever Burnice had on her face right now, he didn’t think he could bear to see it.
“OK,” Burnice said. “You let me know if you ever wanna tell it.”
He didn’t get it. There was no pity. No sadness. She sounded more or less like she always did.
He didn’t get it. He couldn’t look her in the eye, too busy staring at three dog tags that he’d never mentioned before and wasn’t willing to talk about, but nothing had changed. To Burnice, he hadn’t suddenly become damaged goods, or a miserable, sadsack killjoy, or a fragile baby that needed special treatment. She didn’t need to know what he was going through to know she didn’t mind. She knew he was Lighter, and she knew Lighter was her friend, and that was all she needed to know.
He just didn’t get it. He would never, ever understand this woman.
Lighter gulped down the rest of his drink. Mumbling something about needing to get up early tomorrow, he got out of her bar as fast as he could.
He was pretty sure he heard Burnice saying goodbye. He wasn’t so sure he remembered to wave on his way out the door. He was certain whiskey sours weren’t meant to be chugged, he was certain he left without paying, he was certain he left a cherry sitting at the bottom of that glass.
He had no idea how he was going to get to sleep that night.
A couple more weeks passed by. Lighter never apologized for running away from her again. He’d intended to, but every time he opened his mouth to try, she happened to start talking about something new. Nothing was different, even though he felt like it should have been. She really seemed not to be hurt about it.
Eventually he decided that if she’d already moved on, he could move on too. Still, he’d stayed away from her bar ever since. It wasn't that he didn’t want to go back, but he didn’t trust himself not to drink too fast and end up ruining their nights again.
Tonight though, he’d been personally invited. Lighter and Burnice had been out all day running errands in the city, and when they got back, she was right in the middle of explaining how a short-lived attempt to rebrand Nitro-Fuel as “Turbo-Petrol” had almost sent the whole company under.
“Scholars still debate to this day what the exact problem is. A lot of people say it comes down to the fact that Turbo-Petrol has a fourth syllable in the name, and sure, that’s really clunky, but for my money, I think the problem is– oh shoot, it’s later than I thought! Sorry to end on a cliff-hanger, Lighter, but I gotta run and go set up the bar. You should totally come by tonight, though! I can finish telling you then. Besides, I’ve missed you the last couple weeks! My favorite seat’s been empty ever since, and it just looks so lonely without someone sitting in it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Lighter said. “I’d hate for our favorite seat to go empty again.”
Burnice stopped. “Our?”
“Our,” Lighter said, smiling.
Burnice’s face lit up like Lighter hadn’t seen since the first night he’d walked into her bar. “OK!! Catch ya later, Lighter!”
“Catch ya later, Burnice.”
That was a few hours ago. Now it was time for Lighter to keep his word. “Evening, Burnice,” he said, taking a seat in his favorite stool.
“Hey, Lighter!! Glad you could make it. How’s the weather out there?”
“Same as ever. Why?”
“Piper said it felt like rain earlier. Honestly I think that might’ve been a hangover talking, she and Billy were here for a looong time last night.”
“Billy drinks?”
“Nope!” They laughed.
“Oh, by the way.” Lighter reached for the pocket where he kept his Dennies. “I’ve been meaning to pay you for last time.”
Burnice shooed his hand away from his pocket. “Don’t worry about it! It’s sweet of you to remember, but it’s really no big deal. I serve a couple on the house most nights anyway. Although... if you diiid wanna make it up to me...”
Burnice whipped around and got to mixing. Lighter saw her reach for the bourbon, so despite her otherwise successful effort to block his view, he figured whatever she was making was probably right up his alley.
“Ta-da!” Before Lighter knew it, she was placing a drink in front of him. It wasn’t one he recognized.
“What’s this?”
“Try it!”
It smelled a lot like her whiskey sour, but definitely sweeter. The color was similar, too, although she’d added something to make it redder. She'd put an entire lollipop in the glass, which seemed absurd, but she'd also tossed in a trio of maraschino cherries, and once he saw those, Lighter went ahead and tried it.
“Woah.” Immediately he went back for another sip. Only the shame he still felt from getting irresponsibly drunk last time stopped him from gulping it all down in one go.
“This is great, Burnice,” Lighter said. “Is that honey?”
“Sure is! Ever since I saw how much you like cherries and bourbon, I’ve been playing around with fun things to do with those, since you’re my perfect audience. Last week Caesar walked in while I was experimenting, and before I knew it everyone was pitching in to help me fine-tune this recipe. Eventually we just had to figure out how much honey to put in. I got it as sweet as I could without Lucy telling me it wasn’t drinkable, and I hate to admit it, but I think she was right. Turns out that ‘refined taste’ of hers – whatever that means – is good for something after all!”
For the first time in years, Lighter grinned. It wasn’t a terse little gesture, it wasn’t a smirk, it wasn’t the way everyone’s lips curve a little when they laugh. A full, genuine smile spread across his face. “Thanks, Burnice. That was awful kind of you all.”
“Aww, you’re welcome, Lighter! I had a lot of fun, especially once the others got involved. I’m so glad you like it!”
“I love it,” Lighter said, and he took another drink. He took the lollipop from the glass and held it up. “This is different.”
“That was Piper’s idea,” Burnice said. “She saw you pull one out once as you walked away after a mission, and Billy said he found a wrapper on your chair one time after you guys were done arm wrestling. But Piper didn’t see the color before you put it in your mouth, and Billy threw out the wrapper without thinking about it, so we didn’t know what flavors you like. I went with lemon this time ‘cause it felt like it’d go best with the honey, but if you’ve got a different favorite, lemme know!
“By the way,” Burnice continued, “before I forget, I’m not gonna let you pay me for this one either, so don’t bother trying.”
Lighter’s usual frown returned. “But Burnice-”
She held up a hand to cut him off. “No buts! You already paid me. I got to see you smile, to see you really, actually smile, and that...” Burnice pinched one of his cheeks, trying to drag it back to grinning. “...is priceless.”
Lighter blushed as he slapped her hand away. “H-hey!”
Burnice burst out laughing. Lighter’s embarrassment quickly gave way to laughter of his own.
“Oh, another thing,” Burnice said. “You should help me name this! Every drink’s gotta have a name.”
“I suppose I can help with that,” Lighter said. “Lemme finish it first. Might even need to have a second, make sure I’ve really thought it through.” He pulled his sunglasses down so Burnice could see him wink. They laughed again.
A large party walked in shortly after, and Burnice went over to take their orders. Still sipping, Lighter watched her work, which was practically a pastime for him at this point, if he was being honest. Right as he started in on the maraschinos, it finally happened: Burnice made a mistake. Her mixer flew out of her hands, spilling its contents all over the floor behind her bar. She went to the back to find a clean mixer, and she stayed back there for at least a minute. When she returned, she realized she was all out of the main ingredient in the cocktail she spilled. All her patrons said all of this was fine, but years looking for opponents’ tells in the ring told Lighter that at least a few of them were getting pretty impatient, and given her penchant for reading people’s faces, Burnice probably knew that too.
Lighter popped the lollipop from his drink into his mouth as he kept watching her handle the situation. Suddenly something clicked. He finally understood something about Burnice. He realized what it was about her that amazed him so much.
Her carefree nature was a choice. Burnice White chose, when something went wrong, not to let it stop her. She took absolutely every setback in stride. She never forgot that big-picture, everything would be OK. Even in the moments where things weren’t OK, she made a choice every time to power through until they were. She never worried about the things that might happen because she knew that when things went wrong, all she had to do was choose to carry on until they worked themselves out again.
“Huh,” Lighter said to himself. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to put that together. It was obvious, in retrospect. Why had it taken him three visits before he saw Burnice make a mistake in her bar? Because they met after she’d already spent years making mistakes, learning from those experiences, figuring out what to do differently next time to set herself up for success. He’d pulled the candy in his mouth straight out of a cocktail that, by her own admission, she’d only just perfected the recipe for. She’d made mistake after mistake, and what happened after Burnice made all those mistakes?
In the end, everything was alright. Hell, things were more than alright. Burnice’s mistakes brought Lighter the best damn drink he’d had in his life.
Between his teeth, Lighter cracked what was left of his lollipop and put the stick in his empty glass. He chuckled to himself as he realized something else: he wasn’t so different from Burnice in that regard. Every one of his countless scars was a reminder of a time he’d misread his opponent, and those were only from the hits that didn’t feel like leaving once they healed. He couldn’t begin to guess how many other times he’d been hurt thanks to a bad call on his part. Even earlier today, he’d dropped his guard for just a second, and a Hollow Raider slammed his fist right into Lighter’s gut. How’d that work out again?
Lighter carried on. He always carried on. He wasn’t ready to look himself in the mirror and say things were “OK.” When it came to losing his friends, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to say things turned out “OK.” But that had been years ago, and he’d survived every single day since that loss. No matter what life threw at him, no matter the challenges he faced, Lighter carried on.
He laughed a little harder. How’d it take so long for an undefeated champion to realize he couldn’t stop persevering if he tried?
“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Burnice had finally worked through her backlog of orders and returned to his part of the bar.
“Life, I guess,” Lighter said. “It can be a real comedian when it feels like it.”
“Just like you when you get inspired! Speaking of inspiration,” Burnice said, “you figure out a name for this drink yet?”
“Still working on it. Definitely think I need another.”
“On it!” Burnice started mixing a second cocktail.
As she unwrapped a fresh lollipop, Lighter spoke up. “Burnice?” His voice was quiet, his tone uncharacteristically vulnerable.
She turned around.
“I’m sorry. For walking out on you the other night. When you asked about.” Lighter pulled out his dog tags long enough to show her what he meant, then tucked them away again. “Like I said, it’s a long story, but. I think. Someday, I’d like to tell it to you. Might be awhile. I’ve never told it before. Never figured out how. But when I do, I’ll tell you, if you still wanna know.”
Burnice smiled warmly. “OK! You know where to find me, whenever you feel like chattin’. And that goes for anything, Lighter! You can always talk to me. ‘K?”
Lighter smiled back. “‘K. Thanks, Burnice.”
“You betcha!” She plopped the candy in his drink before hustling over to check on someone calling to her from the other end of the bar.
When Burnice returned, Lighter lifted his glass in front of them and gave it a little twirl. “How do you feel about ‘Sucker Punch?’”
It took her a second to realize that he’d just named her cocktail, but once she did, Burnice erupted with excitement. “Ooo, that’s fun! Yeahyeahyeah that’s great, that has such a good ring to it!! And, and!” Her fists flew through the air in what Lighter was pretty sure was an attempt at imitating his fighting style. When she’d worn herself out, she picked up the new lollipop, looked at it like she’d never seen one before in her life, shook it at him, gawked at it again, then dropped it back into the glass.
“Wow! WOW! Lighter, you’re a genius! That’s the best name anyone’s ever come up with for a custom mix of mine! That might be the best name I’ve ever heard for anything! Hang on, hold on, one sec, EEEEE!!!”
Burnice pulled out a couple of shot glasses and a new bottle of whiskey. Below some sort of strange fire-breathing Ethereal, the label read “FIREBALL.”
“Y’know,” she said as she poured, “maybe I shouldn’t have listened to Lucy about the honey, ‘cause she hates this stuff. ‘One wouldn’t even serve such swill to Grassy, Woody, and Bricky,’ she says. As far as I’m concerned, that’s bordering on animal abuse, because I think it’s great.
“Anyway.” Burnice handed Lighter his shot. “More for us. Cheers, Lighter: to the Sucker Punch!”
“Cheers.” Lighter clinked his glass to hers, tapped it to the bar, and threw back the Fireball. “Hmm. Don’t think it’s for me,” he said, “but I can see why you like it.”
“See, I’m not crazy!”
“Not about the Fireball, anyway.” Lighter failed to hide his smirk behind another sip of his drink.
“Hey!!!” They laughed.
“So tell me, Burnice,” Lighter said. “If ‘Sucker Punch’ is the best name you’ve ever heard – thanks, by the way, I’m flattered – if ‘Sucker Punch’ is so good, why did they go back to calling it Nitro-Fuel after ‘Turbo-Petrol’ didn’t take off?”
“Oh yeah! Where was I again? Right, so a lot of people subscribe to the four-syllable theory, and I used to too, but a couple years ago I watched this documentary that totally changed my perspective on the situation. Get this: it turns out that...”
Lighter and Burnice talked for hours, and it wasn’t just Burnice this time: all night long, Lighter talked too. Right as she answered the last of his questions about the fifth leading theory behind why Turbo-Petrol flopped, Lucy walked in. Her delight at hearing Lighter say he loved the drink she helped perfect quickly gave way to indignation when he told her he thought she was wrong about Fireball. A few minutes later, Caesar walked in, and quickly drew Lucy’s ire by asking Lighter and Burnice to weigh in on their latest dumb argument.
“Caesar,” Lucy said, “a hot dog is absolutely not a sandwich! Do you know anything???”
Caesar shook her head. “I’m not saying it is, Lucy, I just want you to tell me why it wouldn’t be. It’s meat and a bun, isn’t it? How’s that any different from a burger?”
Lucy screamed and stormed out of the bar. Caesar sighed, drew her weapons, and followed her out. Not three seconds after the door closed behind her, the familiar clang of Lucy’s bat striking Caesar’s shield rang through the air.
“I can’t believe I’m saying it,” Lighter said, raising his voice to be heard over the skirmish outside, “but I’m with Lucy on this one.”
“What??? C’mon Lighter, a hot dog is totally a sandwich. It’s just shaped funny!”
Lighter and Burnice eventually agreed to disagree, only to immediately argue for at least half an hour about whether it should be called a hot dog (“you’d never eat one cold,” Burnice pointed out) or a glizzy (“sure, but they aren’t dogs,” Lighter said). By the time they both accepted that this too must end in a draw, Lighter realized they were the last two people left in the bar.
For the first time since they’d met, he watched Burnice yawn, which made him yawn too. They both turned to look at the clock. Neither could believe how late it was.
“Congrats, Lighter! You’re now one of only three people who’s ever heard me say these words: closing time!”
“I’m honored. Need any help?”
“Nah,” Burnice said. “I’ve been winding down for the last hour or so, and the rest is really easy. Thanks for offering, though!”
“My pleasure. Sure I can’t pay you?”
“I’m sure! I closed the register while you were in the bathroom earlier, so while it’s sweet that you care so much about paying me, at this point it would be more annoying if you did.”
“Well played, Burnice. I’ll get you next time, though.”
“You’d better! I’m not made of bourbon, you know.”
They laughed. Lighter made for the door. He stopped when he got there.
“Butterscotch,” he said.
Burnice’s head popped up from below her bar.
He turned around to explain himself. “My favorite flavor’s butterscotch.”
Burnice grinned. “Noted! Next time I’m in the city, I’ll pick some up.”
“Don’t go too far out of your way,” Lighter said. “Actually, if you want, I can come with, we can restock the bar while we’re the-” A yawn interrupted Lighter mid-sentence. “Mmm, there. But we can figure that out tomorrow.
“G’night, Burnice.”
“Good night, Lighter! Text me when you get home!”
Lighter texted her when he got home. That night, he slept better than he had in years.