Chapter Text
The bar was beneath them.
Or at least, that’s what Shake kept saying.
“This place sucks,” he announced for the third time, tapping his fingers against the counter. “I mean, look at this! Sticky floor, bad lighting, zero ambiance… If I wanted to drink in a cave I’d do it at home.”
“You’re still drinking,” Frylock said, calm as ever.
“Well… yeah, because I make places better,” Shake shot back, already halfway through another glass. “They should be paying me to be here.”
Frylock didn’t respond. He rarely did when Shake got like this; loud, peacocking, desperate to dominate the space.
Instead, he watched the ice melt in his own drink and told himself this was normal. That Shake was always like this. All bluster and ego and sharp edges, a man who filled silence because the alternative terrified him.
Shake leaned closer, elbow nudging into Frylock’s side.
“You’re being weird,” Shake said. “You’ve barely spout any of your nerd shit all night.”
“I’m listening to you.”
“Yeah, well, stop that and start talking. Makes me nervous.”
That earned a look. Frylock’s eyebrow lifting just slightly. Shake scoffed and looked away, suddenly very invested in the TV behind the bar. Some washed-up game show rerun.
“You know,” Shake continued, voice looser now, slick with alcohol, “most people would kill to be out with me. Like, beg. I’m doing you a favor.”
“I’m sure,” Frylock added, deadpan .
Shake smirked, pleased. It quickly faltered. He drank again, faster this time.
The thing about Shake —Frylock knew this better than anyone— was that the ego was loud because the doubt underneath it was louder. Alcohol made the cracks in him visible. Made the performance harder to maintain
The music shifted to something slower, heavier.
Shake grimaced.
“God, this song’s depressing.”
Shake slid off his stool a little too fast, swaying. Frylock instinctively reached out, steadying him by the arm.
Shake froze at the contact.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Shake looked down at Frylock’s hand. Then he looked up and really looked at him.
His expression twisted, not into mockery, but something uncertain and raw.
“Don’t get weird about this,” Shake said, voice low.
“..I’m not?” Frylock replied.
“Good. Because I’m not—hic—this isn’t a thing.”
Frylock opened his mouth to agree, but Shake leaned in before he could.
It wasn’t smooth. It was hesitant and sloppy, all bravado evaporated at the last second. Their lips brushed, barely there.
Frylock’s brain short-circuited. For one heartbeat, he didn’t pull away.
Then Shake did, recoiling like he’d touched a hot stove.
“Oh my god,” Shake said, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair. “Nope. That… no. That was a mistake. You didn’t see that.”
His face was flushed, not just from alcohol.
He laughed too loudly too fast.
Shake put his hat back on, “Wow. Guess I really am drunk. You should feel honored though. I don’t just—”
“Shake,” Frylock said quietly.
Shake stopped talking.
The silence stretched.
“That can’t happen again,” Frylock said. He wished that he meant it.
“Obviously,” Shake snapped, defensive again, walls slamming back into place. “I mean, what would people think?”
“There’s no one here who knows us.”
Shake’s eyes darted across the building.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His gaze flickered back to Frylock, unreadable.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Well. Still.”
They stood there, too close, neither willing to be the one to step away first.
Shake was the first to move.
Shake scoffed, turning back to the bar. “This place sucks.” He scoffed, rolling his shoulders.
“Okay,” he said loudly, clapping his hands once. “We’re not doing this weird… thing. I’m not into you. Just wanna make that crystal clear before you start getting ideas.”
Frylock blinked once.
“I didn’t say—”
“Didn’t have to,” Shake cut in, already waving him off. “I know how this goes. One little drunk moment and suddenly it’s all gushy and- it’s just not happening. That kiss? Pure accident. Reflex. Muscle memory.. I kiss people.. It’s a talent.”
“That’s not how reflexes work,” Frylock corrected.
They both sat back down.
Shake bristled. “Wow. Judgy. Didn’t realize you were the kissing police.”
He flagged the bartender with aggressive enthusiasm. “Another round. For me. He’s cut off.” He jabbed a thumb at Frylock.
“I didn’t say I wanted—”
“Yeah, yeah, save it,” Shake said, already smirking. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
The drink arrived. The way Shake downed it, it seemed like he was trying to drown something out.
Across the bar, a couple laughed. Shake noticed immediately. His eyes tracked them sourly.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “Look at this guy. Thinks he’s hot because he’s got a beard and a flannel. I could pull his girlfriend in ten seconds.”
Frylock followed his gaze. “You don’t know them.”
“I know enough.” Shake leaned closer again, invading Frylock’s space with renewed aggression. “You checking him out or something?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Shake snapped. “You’ve been weird all night! Quiet. Staring. Bet you do this all the time.. sit there, judging, acting all superior while secretly wishing you were him..”
“That’s not true,” Frylock scoffed.
Shake laughed hollowly. “Wow. Defensive. Hit a nerve, huh?”
He smirked, eyes glittering with challenge. “You jealous?”
“No,” Frylock said. “Are you?”
Shake’s smile twitched.
“Please,” he said, too fast. “I don’t get jealous.. I’m the one people get jealous of.”
He glanced back at the couple again. Longer this time.
“Anyway,” he continued, voice turning crueler, more performative, “if I wanted something real I wouldn’t be stuck drinking with you. I mean, no offense, but you’re not exactly—” he gestured vaguely “—fun. You don’t flirt. You don’t fight. You just sit there acting like... like that”
Frylock felt that one land. He kept his voice level.
“You’re trying to hurt me.”
Shake scoffed. “Oh my god, don’t flatter yourself. You think you matter enough to hurt?”
Silence.
Shake waited for a reaction. A snap back. Anything. When Frylock didn’t give him one, his jaw tightened.
“Tch. Whatever. I’m leaving.”
He slid off the stool again, stumbled, but caught himself without help this time.
Frylock watched him go, then muttered, “You don’t mean any of that.”
Shake froze.
He turned slowly, eyes sharp, defensive, almost desperate. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not,” Frylock replied. “I’m just saying you don’t have to—”
“I don’t have to what?” Shake snapped. “Pretend? Yeah, no kidding. Because there’s nothing to pretend about! That kiss didn’t mean anything. You didn’t mean anything.. This night didn’t mean anything.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Frylock stood.
“Okay,” he said.
That was it.
Shake stared at him, furious; because Frylock wasn’t begging, wasn’t angry, wasn’t jealous back. Just calm.. And that somehow felt worse than rejection.
“Yeah,” Shake muttered, turning away. “That’s what I thought.”
He headed for the door, shoulders stiff, pride dragging behind him like a wounded animal.
Halfway out, he glanced back.
Frylock was still standing there, watching. Not smug or cold, jst quiet.
Shake felt something ugly twist in his chest.
He stormed out before it could show.