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Bar Guy doesnt like kids.
Never has, never will.
Nothing against the little ones. He's certainly not someone who thinks kids need to be locked inside the house 24/7 and never be allowed in public. But, he just doesnt understand wanting kids and its never been for him. In a society like this that came with judgement.
But honestly, compared to the hatred he faced for his looks, not wanting kids was miniscule. People looked at him already and assumed a plethora of things just because of it.
But, regardless, he had just never felt the urge. He was in his 40s by now. No parents. No siblings. He never really had his eyes on a woman (or man, honestly).
It was just him and his bottle of whiskey.
That was, until the sun started to spit evil fire on the lands and he took refuge in a random homeowner's house for the foreseeable future. Looking back, he was happy he got kicked out of that crappy bar so he could be led to a much better place.
It wasnt all bad. Atleast when they kept the visitors out. God, he still remembers the thick stench of death when two of them killed that poor Kindergarten teacher.
But now, they were boarded up in the house.
For how long? No one was sure.
He wasnt alone in the living room even when guests from other room came and went. Homeowner's house was pretty much theirs too at this point.
There was that Fairytale guy that Bar Guy used every ounce of his willpower to ignore the existence of. Other than him, there were the twin ladies who didnt talk to him very often. He could relate to the sad one more than the happy one.
But now, he had a problem.
The homeowner took in his neighbor's daughter, many weeks ago by now, when her father sadly perished in a fire.
Poor kid. Thrust into such a horrific world all alone with no understanding of just how fucked everyone was. That childhood innocence was so pure, one of the only pure things in the world, and it had been crushed in an instant.
Bar guy couldnt imagine being a child in this mess.
But still, she liked to frequent the living room. Which in itself wasnt bad. She wasnt messy or bratty, thank God, but Bar Guy still bristled near kids on instinct. She usually stayed near the fairytale man, smiling as he rambled on.
But now, Bar Guy was alone with her while the sisters and the odd man wandered the house. He didnt know what to do, so he stayed quiet while she colored at his feet.
He didn't even know what kids liked. How old was she, ten? He hadn't interacted with a ten year old head on for years.
So, he did what he mostly did, and stared at the wall, drowning out the world around him in the noise of his own brain.
But she spoke up.
"You know, I had a dream last night," She randomly told him. What was with kids and how little filters they had?
"Hm?" He glanced down at her, pretty confused why she randomly brought it up.
"Yeah, I dreamed that I was a bottle of ketchup. And you were mustard,"
What?
"Which is weird because you're usually mayonnaise in my dreams. Why do you think that is?"
Okay, this was a lot to unpack and he felt like he already needed a beer. Bar guy took a deep breath, reminding himself that it wasnt appropriate to say 'what the fuck" to a child.
"I'm not sure," he answered her bluntly.
"I have another question," she kept looking up at him.
God help him.
"What?" He sighed out, gripping the armrest tighter.
"Do you not like me?"
Very bluntly question, if you asked him. Way too blunt. Kids were good at doing that shit.
"No. Why?" He was surprised at how quick he answered, his voice full of genuine confusion.
"You dont like talking to me. You dont even look at me a lot either," she told him, her lips drawn in a thin line.
"You have other people to talk to,"
"Thats not the point. You act like how my uncle acted around me. He was really mean,"
Bar Guy groaned again. What were you to do when a little girl who you're already not good with just asks if you hate her? God, he felt like such a dick even if he hadn't done it on purpose.
Did she really think he was a scumbag enough to hate her just for existing?
"Look," He tried to explain, taking a breath to keep himself from lashing out, "I'm just not good with kids. Its not you. Its me,"
"Promise?"
"Promise,"
"Why not?"
Always with the questions.
"I'm just not, kid. Not in my blood, I suppose,"
"But arent all adults good with kids? My daddy was good with me,"
"Because he was your daddy," The word 'was' felt bitter on his tongue, "And he's different from me. He was good with kids, so he had you. And you turned out good because of that,"
"Hm," she pondered on that, looking back at her drawing.
"Adults arent all the same. I dont hate you. I just aint good with you," he explained.
She shifted, holding her drawing up for him to see.
"But I like you. I even drew you!"
Bar guy squinted, seeing the messy tall scribble that he assumed was himself next to a weird green blob with black on its head. That weird guy, he figured.
It wasnt a good drawing but it was sickeningly sweet in the way it came from a place of innocence that was trying to rebuild itself after being torn down.
"I uh.... thank you. Thanks," he told her, unsure what to do with himself.
The little girl gave a toothy grin, before going back to coloring like nothing had happened between them.
He'd never understand kids.