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Hank Olson loves celebrating his friends’ birthdays on random weekdays at a bar. It’s become a Musketeers tradition at this point. Today on this lovely Thursday is no different.
“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…”
The Musketeers sing in all their wobbly glory around the six-seater round table as Clementine laughs. Only Pete is on-key and sounds like he can hold a tune, but their lesbian friend still looks happy to be there.
“Happy birthday dear Clementine… Happy birthday to you!”
Art gets his lighter out and lights the candle on the slice of cake they smuggled into the bar in a tupperware container.
“Awwww, you guys…! You really shouldn’t have,” Clementine says, hands over her heart and smiling widely.
Hank smacks his hand against the table. “C’mon, Clem! We’re all broke as hell, but we can getcha some cake and drinks!” Seriously, they might all be losers, but they’re losers that care…!
“Olson’s right,” Pete says with a grin and elbow to Hank’s side that Hank squirms away from with a squawk. “You deserve all this and more, Clementine.”
“You gon’ make a wish?” Art asks curiously on Clem’s right, dark eyes bright with childish wonder as he stares at the candle.
“Oh! I should. Hmmmm…”
Clementine seems to think about it for a moment. She then nods to herself, afro swaying. Leaning forwards, she purses her painted lips—the candlelight matching her warm orange top and headband perfectly—and blows out the candle.
The four of them whoop and clap for her. It’s likely they’re making a scene, but who the fuck cares? They’re in a bar. Might as well live a little!
Ray helpfully slides across the table a plastic cutlery set to Clementine. “Here. Brought a spare just in case.”
“Thanks, Ray.” Without waiting any longer, Clementine takes a fork and practically pounces on the piece of chocolate cake.
How she manages to eat it without smudging her orange lipstick, Hank doesn’t know. Lady secrets, he assumes. Clem is full of those and has been since he knew her as a kid.
It’s great she’s just as gay as Hank and the rest of the Musketeers. Adding her to split rent definitely helps make their apartment affordable. Being back in Brooklyn after university is a blessing, but the low prices of Maine made Hank almost forget how everything costs an arm and a leg in New York.
“I’m gonna order the first round of drinks,” Pete offers, smoothly standing from his seat. He grins and nods at the man sitting across from him. “And a water for Art.”
“I appreciate it, Pete,” Art says with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t drink. Smokes plenty, sure. But Art’s always the designated driver.
“Pete, make sure you get Clementine something that goes good with chocolate,” Ray adds with a glance at the woman still stuffing her face right across from him. “And maybe an extra water so she doesn’t choke?”
“On it!” Pete presses a kiss to Ray’s head and then heads to the bar counter.
“Mmn… I’ve n’ver chok’d on cake,” Clem says petulantly around her current bite.
“Ew, Clem. Chew and swallow before you start talkin’,” Hank says mockingly. He yelps when Clem swiftly kicks him under the table. “Ay! I’m just sayin’…! You always go and tell me that!”
“‘Cuz ya yap with ya mouth full,” Clem points out, still with half-chewed cake in her mouth.
“No I fuckin’ don’t!”
Art and Ray cackle. Hank gasps, scandalized. Clem covers her mouth with a hand and giggles.
“Betrayed by my own wife… My beautiful platonic wife of over a decade is so cruel!” Hank jokes, clutching his chest.
“Top ten anime betrayals,” says Ray faux-seriously.
Clementine laughs so hard she starts to choke on her cake. Thankfully, a blonde waitress shows up just then with a round of waters for all of them. Clementine quickly gulps down one of the water glasses greedily, a touch bashful when the waitress turns to her with wide eyes.
“Are you alright, miss?” asks the blonde.
“Just fine, thanks,” Clem says meekly. She grabs a napkin offered to her by Art and dabs delicately at her mouth.
“Well, I’ll be back later with your other drinks. If you need me, just ask for Jan.” Jan puts a hand on Clem’s shoulder. “I’ll throw in an extra water for you, too, sweetheart.”
Clem giggles nervously, cheeks darkening in a blush. “Thank you, Jan. Appreciate it.”
Pete slides into his seat with a toothy grin. He waits just long enough for Jan to leave before commenting to Clem, “You almost made a fool of yourself in front of a pretty girl, Clem.”
“Ughhhhh, don’t remind me! Jesus… If I made a fool of myself and died on my own birthday…” She wags a finger, the little gems on her nail sparkle under the bar lights. “I’m callin’ triple hate crime.”
“Don’t worry, girlie. We’ll turn it into a mass gay murder-suicide instead and die with ya,” Hank says flippantly.
Art grimaces and side-eyes Hank judgmentally. “I’d like to vote to skip the murder-suicide.”
“Me and Pete’s anniversary is coming up next month. Can I also vote to skip?” Ray asks with a lazy raise of his hand. Pete snorts.
Hank throws his arms up in the air in exasperation. “Does no one appreciate my plannin’ around here?! Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”
Thankfully that’s enough to trigger another of his platonic wife’s laughing fits. Clementine’s joy easily lifts all their spirits and lets the current topic fizzle away pleasantly.
Clementine Cresswell is a naturally bubbly and giggly woman. When she drinks, she becomes a bubbly and giggly drunk.
Every lame joke gets her in stitches. Which is to Hank’s benefit.
Hank likes it when people laugh at his jokes! That’s why he likes being Clem’s best friend. And why he thought he was straight and in love with Clem for a few dodgy years in high school.
Heteronormativity was a bitch. Hank’s glad he and Clem went to prom together only as friends. He’d probably have ruined their friendship otherwise.
He’s also glad Clem gets along so well with the other Musketeers. She’s practically a Musketeer at this point, too.
“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” Clem chants at Pete, smacking the table with a palm.
“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” Hank eggs on.
Pete rolls his eyes with a smile but knocks back his fresh glass of beer, finishing it all in one fell swoop.
Hank and Clem whoop and holler. Ray laughs and pats his boyfriend’s back. Art smiles fondly from behind his water glass.
There’s a sudden scrape of feedback that echoes across the bar. “Sorry, folks. Testing, testing…”
Hank feels that deep, even voice slide into his ears and all the way down to pool at his stomach. When he looks over at whoever’s talking at the microphone stand in the corner, Hank doesn’t expect to see someone who looks even sexier than he sounds.
Who’s easily the most gorgeous man Hank’s ever seen in his entire life graces his eyes. No exaggeration, this guy could be on fashion magazines. It’s a lofty thought to have, considering Hank’s friends with some pretty hot people, but hot damn. Mystery man on the mic blows everyone Hank knows out of the water.
Hank’s mouth goes dry as he stares.
The handsome man is sitting on a stool, guitar balanced on his lap and mic up to his lips. He’s in jeans and a grey tank top, jean jacket tied around his waist. His biceps are massive, big enough to rival Pete’s. His pecs are shiny with a bit of sweat and look like they’re liable to spill right out of that tank top, a necklace hanging right at cleavage level. His river of inky hair is tied back in a low ponytail, a few whisps framing his handsome jaw. His brown eyes twinkle in excitement, grin small and crooked on his lips as he looks over the bar patrons.
“Thanks to the staff for letting me come up here and play another Thursday night,” the man says sincerely, voice slow and almost lyrical as he speaks. “For any newcomers, the name’s Collie Parker. For those that recognize me, I hope I don’t bore you too much tonight.”
A few scattered, warm laughs fill the bar after that cheeky line. Collie grins wider, flashing his teeth.
Hank feels his heart almost beat right out his chest and go screaming out the bar door. Jesus fucking Christ is Collie Parker hot.
It doesn’t help that Collie strums his guitar and starts singing. His voice is smooth and soulful, warming Hank from the inside out.
“Purple haze all in my brain,
Lately things don't seem the same,
Actin' funny, but I don't know why,
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky…”
Pete, who is easily past tipsy and loves Jimi Hendrix, enthusiastically whoops at the song choice. Clem, who loves music in general, starts to cheer and clap despite Collie just barely starting. Collie beams over at them while singing like Christmas has come early.
Hank is not drunk enough to deal with this. The hottest man on earth can sing really well and Hank’s dumbass friends are getting his attention all on their table.
Hank practically inhales his drink and tries to act like he’s invisible until the song ends. Then him and the Musketeers all break out into clapping and cheering for the singer. Bolstered by their enthusiasm, the rest of the bar also claps and voices their approval.
“Looks like I’ve got some Jimi Hendrix fans in the audience tonight,” says Collie playfully into the mic with a toothy grin. “Want me to play another?”
Pete calls out a song request. Hank slowly gets out of his seat and tells the table, “I’m gettin’ the next round of drinks.”
Hank makes sure to order himself a double shot. Slams it back while Collie Parker plays some of the best live covers Hank’s heard in a long while.
Four more songs and another drink pass before Hank is drunk enough to start acting bold again. “Oi, Parker…!” he calls, hands cupped around his mouth. “I gotta request for ya!”
Collie nods and says into the mic, “Sure thing. What is it?”
“You know Oh my Darlin’, Clementine? Play it for her!” Hank then points at Clem sitting to his left.
The woman flails her arms at him with a whine of, “Haaaaaank!”
Collie laughs, loud and warm. It sounds like music. Hank is stunned so dumb, Clem actually manages to smack the baseball cap right off his head.
“I can do that.” Collie then locks eyes with Hank from across the bar and winks at him.
Hank pinches himself just to double-check he’s still alive. Ow, okay. He is. Could’ve fooled him, considering a whole ass angel is here in a random bar in the middle of Brooklyn.
Collie parts those handsome lips and sings:
“In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Dwelt a miner, forty-niner,
And his daughter, Clementine…”
As if they’re all boy scouts, Hank and the others join in after the first verse, much to Clem’s giggly bemoaning.
“Yes, I loved her, how I loved her,
Though her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes, without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine…
Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’,
Oh my Darlin’, Clementine!
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine…!”
Clem’s got her face buried in her hands. But her fingers are spread so she can still watch as they start an impromptu sing-along for her birthday, all embarrassed and pleased.
By the end, most of the bar has gotten into the spirit of it, singing along with Collie Parker.
The applause is enthusiastic afterwards. Collie stands and gives a dramatic bow with a beaming smile. Hank feels like he’ll go blind if he keeps looking at the guy, but he also can’t bear to tear his gaze away.
Collie locks eyes with Hank again. Like he’s searching for something.
Hank wolf-whistles and raises his empty glass. “Good job, Parker. How ‘bout I buy you a drink?” he wants to say but never will.
Clem leans over to Hank and croons, “Oh my gosh, guitar boy’s sooooo totally checkin’ you out.”
“He’s totally not,” Hank shoots back, heart kicking up a notch.
Pete grins and elbows Hank with, “You sure about that, compadre?”
“Guys—”
Hank cuts himself off when Collie chuckles into the mic.
“I’m taking a wild guess that the little lady at your table is named Clementine,” the musician says with a smile, eyes twinkling as they bore into Hank’s.
Hank sets his glass down, cups his hands around his mouth, and yells, “YEAH! AND IT’S HER BIRTHDAY!”
“Ooh, we’ve got a birthday party at the bar tonight! How about it, folks? Why don’t you help me out and sing Clementine a happy birthday?”
“Oh my gosh, noooooo,” Clementine complains through her giggles, once more hiding behind her hands.
“Let’s go, Clem!” Art cheers with a warm laugh.
“Lemme count down. On the count of three, then we start,” Collie says, strumming an idle note on his guitar. “One, two, three—”
Clementine hasn’t stopped giggling since the last note of happy birthday rang through the bar.
Hank’s the first to get out of his chair to bear hug her. Soon enough, it’s a Musketeer group hug.
Hank is busy pressing an exaggerated, wet kiss on a happily shrieking Clem’s face. That’s how he doesn’t realize Collie Parker’s gotten off the stage and is now standing by their table, guitar in hand.
“Your group seems full of fun, Clementine. Mind if I take a break here?”
Hank freezes. He stares, wide-eyed, at the hunky angel descended from Heaven in front of him.
“Heehee! Not at all!” Clem clumsily shoves Hank’s face away.
“Urgh, Clem…” But Hank graciously lets Clem push him off her.
“Please, come sit,” Art tells Collie kindly, sitting down and gesturing to the empty chair on his right. Full Southern hospitality kicking in. “We got space for one more.”
Collie grins and slides into the last spot, setting his guitar against a leg of the table. He’s sitting directly across from Hank at the round table. Hank tries not to melt into a puddle under the gaze of the hunky guy from up close.
Collie has really pretty eyes.
Clem breaks through Hank’s mooning with a playful smack to the table. “Collie Parker, you really went all out! You didn’t need t’listen to Hank’s big mouth here, honest.”
“Hey! I was just being a good fuckin’ friend, Clem,” Hank insists, defensive. “Everyone should know it’s your special day today. You only live once, right? Might as well make the fuckin’ best of it!”
“Awwww, buddy…” Art croons.
“Ain’t that precious?” Pete adds with an exaggerated bat of his eyes.
Ray smiles goofily. “That’s really fucking beautiful, Hank.”
Hank huffs, his cheeks warming with a blush. “Oh, fuck off…”
Before Hank can protest further, Collie gives a warm laugh. “Hey, that’s a good way to live! And being loyal to your friends is pretty important. Not many people are.”
Wow, what a standup guy. Hot and sensitive? Collie Parker better stop being charming or else Hank’s gonna start imagining stupid shit like wedding vows.
Hank gives an awkward shrug. “Clem’s been stuck with me for ages. Might as well make it worth her while.”
“Oh Hank… That’s really sweet.” Clem puts a hand on her chest, looking genuinely touch. “Geeze. Why can’t’cha be this sweet all the time?”
Hank huffs, embarrassed. He crosses his arms and tries not to slump in his seat. “Well if I act like fuckin’ cotton candy every minute of the goddamn day, no one’s gonna take me seriously ‘round here.”
Clementine’s eyes gleam brightly under the bar lights before she playfully says, “See, this attitude’s why you don’t gotta boyfriend yet.”
Hank nearly chokes on his own tongue at that. “H-Huh?!”
Pete breaks into cackles. Ray wheezes, burying his face against Pete’s shoulder. Hank glares at them in betrayal.
“Clem…” Art starts reproachfully, voice thick with amusement.
Clem turns to Collie to boldly ask, “Can you think of somethin’ that’d help Hank be better boyfriend material, Collie?”
“What is this? Fuckin’—roast Hank Olson hour?!” Hank demands, staring wide-eyed at her.
Clem leans over and hugs him. “Awwww, Hank! I’m just tryna help!” She whispers in his ear, breath hot and stinking of alcohol, “C’monnnn, talk to guitar boyyyyy.”
Oh God. Clementine’s drunk and trying to wingman Hank with Collie. And Hank isn’t exactly fucking sober right now either. He’s probably gonna make an ass of himself.
Collie meanwhile is fighting a losing battle against his laughter, fist up to his mouth. “Woah, uh… Haha… I don’t think Hank here needs to do much, honest.”
“Wait, really?” Hank blurts, like a dumbass.
Collie smiles behind his fist. “I mean, some guys like a short king. You could pull if you wanted.” He tugs some hair behind his ear and winks at Hank. “Just need to go for it, right?”
Ohhhhh fuck. Oh fuck, Hank is being flirted with by the hottest man in existence. Okay.
He can do this.
“Easier said than done when I’m in front of a future fuckin’ rock star, but alright.” Hank leans his arm against the table and gives Collie his best smile. “You’ve gotta be thirsty after all that impressive singin’ earlier, Collie. What drink can I getcha?”
Collie beams back at Hank with all his teeth. “I wouldn’t mind a beer. Maybe a Corona?”
“Good taste! The beer for kings, eh?” Hank winks and stands up. “Just sit back and I’ll get it for ya, your majesty.” He gives a little bow like a knight would to their king.
Collie doesn’t say anything. But the way he blushes and nods as he smiles at Hank is enough of an answer. He’s obviously charmed by Hank’s flirty jokes.
“Which he should be fuckin’ charmed,” Hank thinks internally, “‘cuz even drunk I’ve still fuckin’ got it!”
Clem’s giggling up a storm. “Good job, Hank!” She moves like she wants to playfully smack his arm, but misses. Wildly. She accidentally knocks over her glass instead.
Hank’s reaction time is quick enough to save the glass from falling and shattering on the ground. Unfortunately, the liquid ends up spilling on him. All across his crotch.
There’s an awkward beat before Clementine sputters out, “OhmyGod! I-I’m SO sorry!”
Hank sucks in a breath. Slowly lets it out. The sticky drink makes it look like he’s just pissed himself, a dark stain growing right over his crotch.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s gotten alcohol spilled on his best pair of jeans. He was stupid enough to wear them to the bar in the first place, so that’s on him.
Clem clumsily stops the spill from dripping further by clumping napkins together at the end of the table. Art quickly stands and waves over a staff member.
“Oh shit,” says Pete sympathetically next to Hank. “Olson, you want my jacket?”
“I’m fine,” Hank says flatly, trying to keep calm.
“Hank, I’m sorry,” Clem says in a small voice, brown eyes big and wet.
“It’s fine, Clem,” Hank tells her, in that same flat tone.
There’s the scraping of a chair. Collie Parker rounds the table, already untying the jacket from around his waist. Before Hank can protest, Collie casually ties it around Hank’s waist the opposite way so the fabric covers Hank’s front.
“Here. Let’s get you to the bathroom,” Collie says, voice calm and kind. His hands are warm through Hank’s thin t-shirt, fingers pressing gently against the small of his back, lingering after tying the jacket off. “It won’t take too long to dry, alright?”
Hank is overwhelmed by so many different emotions, he’s starting to shut down. All he can do is silently nod.
“We’ll be back,” Collie tells the table. Then he carefully grabs Hank by the shoulders, spins him around, and leads Hank to the bathrooms.
Normally Hank doesn’t get like this.
He’s ushered to an open stall, made to sit on a toilet with the lid down. Collie crouches in front of him with a frown.
“Hey, Hank? You still in there?”
This is fucking embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing. Hank’s shutting down in front of a hot guy. He’s such a fucking loser—
“It’s okay, man. Can I hold your hands?”
Hank nods mutely.
Collie’s hands are warm as he takes Hank’s in his. “Good. You’re doing good. Next step, can you tell me five things you can see?”
Hank blinks. What?
“Five things you can see,” the other repeats patiently. “Anything will do.”
Hank blinks. “Um. You.” Blinks again. “Our hands. My knees… Bathroom stall. Floor.”
“Cool. Good, now can you tell me four things you can touch?”
“Your… Your hands. Uh, the toilet seat… My pants. Your jacket?”
“Good. Three things you can hear?”
“Shitty pop song on the speakers,” Hank blurts. That earns him a laugh from Collie. Collie has a really nice laugh. “Your laugh.” A breath. “And my breathing.”
“Good. Almost there.” Collie smiles warmly at him. “Two things you can smell?”
“Ass and booze,” Hank says bluntly, earning him another laugh. “We’re—We’re in the fuckin’ bathroom and I got a cocktail spilled all over me. What the fuck else am I gonna smell?”
“Fair enough!” Collie rubs his thumbs over Hank’s knuckles. They’re callused. “Last one, what’s one thing you can taste?”
“The shot I took ‘cuz I was nervous to talk to ya.” A pause. “Shit, I shoudn’t’ve said that.”
Collie’s smile softens into something almost shy. “I was wondering why you kept drinking so much while I was playing. I just thought my playing was so shit you had to distract yourself with drinks.”
“What?! No!” Hank leans forwards slightly, shaking their hands. “Your playing’s so fuckin’ good, man! Seriously! Your voice is like—it’s like fuckin’ molasses or some shit, okay? It’s really good. You’re really good.”
The other gives an awkward laugh, glancing away. “And you’re sweet. I’m supposed to be helping you feel better. Not the other way around.”
“Yeah, well…”
And now the embarrassment hits Hank all over again, making him trail off.
He’s just had a fucking panic attack in front of a guy he’s been trying to flirt with. There’s a spilled drink all over his lap. He’s sitting on a fucking toilet in a shitty bar bathroom. Collie Parker is kneeling on a dirty bathroom floor, all because of him.
“Hey. It’s alright.” Collie squeezes Hank’s hands, grounding him back in the moment. “I don’t mind helping you out. And the spill, it’ll dry.” He lets go of Hank’s hands—a shame, Hank already misses their steady warmth—and presses his palms against the bathroom stall walls. Collie hauls himself to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s get you some paper towels or something.”
Collie offers Hank a hand. Hank grabs it.
He’s easily hauled onto his feet—which in itself is impressive. Hank might be short, but he does martial arts and goes to the gym regularly. He’s more muscular than most people give him credit for, underestimating his strength and how much he weighs.
Collie doesn’t. In fact, he gives Hank a slow and appreciative once-over. Obviously he can tell that Hank’s body has some bulk to it.
And obviously he likes that.
Collie holds Hank’s hand as they go to the sinks. In his free hand, he rips a few paper towels out of the dispenser.
Hank lifts up the jacket. The stain on his jeans is turning a weird yellowish color as it’s drying. Ugh, it just makes him look like he’s seriously pissed himself for real.
Hank drops Collie’s hand and grabs the paper towels offered to him. He rubs them over his crotch with a grimace of frustration.
“It’s gonna need a good wash at the laundromat. Definitely some Tide,” Hank mumbles.
“Could be worse? At least it’s not, y’know, vomit,” Collie offers.
Hank raises a brow. Collie sheepishly shrugs.
“Point.” He finishes his valiant attempt at mopping up the spill. Thankfully his jeans are thick enough that the alcohol hasn’t seeped into his boxers just yet. Going home in both wet jeans and underwear sounds like a new layer of Hell.
“You can borrow my jacket to get you home,” Collie offers once Hank’s tossed the wad of paper towels away. Collie’s posing against one of the sinks, leaning against it with his arms crossed, as cool as a cucumber. But there’s sweat on his brow that gives him away. “I can always come by yours some other night to pick it up.”
“Oho, is that your line to visit my place?” Hank asks teasingly. At Collie’s sheepish grin, Hank snorts. “Damn, okay mister gentleman! Call me sufficiently fuckin’ wooed.”
Collie chuckles a little. “Alright, sufficiently fuckin’ wooed… Can I get your number?”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely you can,” Hank says, already taking his phone out. “Just a warning, though, I share a place with my buds and Clem. If we wanna get up to any proper hanky-panky, it’s gonna have to be back at yours. Unless you like an audience in that way.” Hank grins salaciously at Collie, wagging his eyebrows.
Poor guy shuffles a little on his feet, dropping his crossed arms to grab at the edge of the sink he’s leaning against. Collie’s cheeks fill with a blush as he ducks his head. “Uhhhh… I-I think maybe going back to mine would be for the best in that case? I mean, I live in a shoebox, but uh. At least it’s private?”
“Sold!” Hank grabs one of Collie’s hands on the sink, turns it upwards, and slaps his unlocked phone into it. “Here, put your number in. You can talk ‘bout your castle later, your highness.”
Collie giggles, then. He types in his name and digits. When he hands the phone back, he’s smiling at Hank in a way that makes Hank’s stomach twist pleasantly. “You keep saying I’m royalty.”
Hank shrugs with a crooked grin. “Well, if the shoe fits…”
The other shakes his head with a laugh. “Hardly.”
“I dunno, Parker. You just came to my rescue and sat with me in a shitty bathroom. I think that makes you Prince fuckin’ Charming, at the very least.”
Collie beams back at Hank. Even the shitty lights above them can’t hide just how gorgeous Collie Parker is with a smile that crinkles his pretty brown eyes. “I’d be honored to be your Prince Charming.”
Collie tries to grab Hank’s hand, bowing over it. Hank yanks his hand out of Collie’s with a sputtered, “We were both touchin’ the dirty fuckin’ bathroom floor just now! At least wash our fuckin’ hands first before we start with the romantic hand smooches!”
Wait. Shit, he’s being rude and pedantic. He’s fucking this up.
Thankfully, Collie doesn’t take offense. Just laughs at Hank’s mild freak-out. Laughs long and hard and from his belly. It’s easily the best song of the night that’s spilled past his lips.
Hank leaves the bar bathroom with the number of the most gorgeous man in existence in his phone and the warmth lingering on the back of his hand from a kiss.
He’s in high spirits as he hums to himself, making his way back to the table with the other Musketeers. Collie follows behind him, gently holding Hank’s shoulder.
“Hank! Are you okay?!” Clem demands, stumbling onto her feet. Art grabs her by the elbow to steady her.
“I’m good!” Hank says with a flippant flap of his hand. “Collie made sure I was okay.” Clem practically launches herself at him, bringing him into a tight hug. He gently pats her back. “Hey, hey. Clem, it’s just a little spill!”
“I still feel terrible,” Clem mumbles against the crown of Hank’s head, slumped into the embrace.
“You can just make it up to me when it’s my birthday, alright?”
“…Jan left a free beer. You want it?”
A free drink? Well, Hank’s not exactly up for more drinking tonight. “Nah. You take it.”
“I’ll save it in the fridge in case you change your mind,” Clem says stubbornly, pout thick in her voice.
Hank chuckles and rubs her back. “If that’s what you want, girl.”
“I’ll put the beer in my bag,” Ray offers. “I’m the least likely to drink it anyways.”
“Thanks for looking after my guitar while I was gone, by the way,” Collie suddenly says.
Clem finally lets Hank go. Hanks looks to see Collie grab his guitar and shuffle on his feet, awkward as hell. And really fucking cute for it.
“It ain’t no trouble at all,” Art says, kind and even.
“Yeah, man! We should be thankin’ you for lookin’ out for Hank.” Pete exchanges a knowing look with his boyfriend. “We popped our heads in, but it seemed like you had it under control.”
The Musketeers are familiar enough with Hank’s panic attacks that he’s long since forgotten to be embarrassed about it. Ray sometimes gets them, too. They all know how to help one another depending on who gets one.
“It was really considerate! Thanks, Collie,” Clem says sweetly.
“Yeah, no. It’s cool.” Collie shrugs the strap of his guitar around his shoulder. “One of my little sisters gets them, too. Learned how to properly walk people through them once I got my CNA.”
“Oh, shit. You a nurse?” Pete asks. When Collie nods, he gives an impressed whistle.
“Jesus fuck me. Is there somethin’ you can’t do?” Hank asks Collie breathlessly. Thoughtful, charming, talented, hot—and now smart and hardworking on top of that. Seriously, Collie Parker is not beating the angel allegations.
Collie smirks, slow and pleased. “You into that?”
“Stupid fuckin’ question. I was into alla that,” Hank starts, waving a hand up and down Collie’s form, “the second you stepped up to that mic. You bein’ a medical professional is just a bonus.”
Collie strums a note on his guitar, still with that smirk on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The two lock eyes, mooning at one another. Hank feels like he can stare into Collie’s big beautiful brown eyes and never get tired.
Ray suddenly tosses something at Clementine across the table. Clem clumsily grabs it, looking somewhat befuddled. “Ray, what’s this?”
The redhead smiles widely. “Our waitress left it with the free beer. It’s for you.”
Hank leans over to look. It’s one of those cardboard coasters that comes with a drink that can be chucked out later. The back is scrawled in metallic sharpie. It’s a phone number with the message, ‘Call me sometime, bday girl. Jan :)’ under it.
Clementine shrieks happily before throwing her arms around Hank. “Haaaank, ohmyGod! You helped get me a girl! Eeeee!”
“Huh?! I don’t think I deserve the credit for this one, Clem—”
“But I gotcha Collie! It’s totally, like, even!”
The Musketeers, plus Collie, all laugh warmly around the excited woman. She’s obviously still feeling the effects of the copious amounts of drinks she had with the way she clings to Hank and has him practically drag her out the bar and towards their car.
“I’ll text you later!” Collie calls to Hank with a wave.
“Lookin’ forwards to it, my prince…!” Hank carefully sets Clem in her shotgun seat before blowing a kiss to Collie.
Collie mimes catching it with a massive grin on his face. Hank waves and then enters the back seat, squeezed in with Pete and Ray.
The Musketeers should keep celebrating their birthdays like this, on random weekdays at the bar. Next time they will, though, Hank knows Collie will be joining them.