Chapter Text
1:48 AM on a Thursday. Never an eventful time at Nicky’s Place. On an average day, the last of the patrons would be gone by 1:30, 1:45 at the latest. The bathrooms would be cleaned, the dishes done, and the drawers would be counted. But the word average was nowhere near considerable when someone made their way down the entrance steps 12 minutes to close. You were perched on the bar bullshitting with your barback Killian when the outside door opened, the unmistakable sound of the old hinges scraping echoing into the room. Killian raised an eyebrow.
“Guess someone didn’t get the memo,” he said, crossing his arms. You shrugged and hopped off the counter.
“Maybe they’re new in town. Nothing wrong with some fresh faces around here,” you replied, trying to make the best of it even though you were prepared for the worst. Usually, anyone coming in this late was someone who was already shitfaced and was trying to get a drink somewhere else they hadn’t already been booted from. But to your surprise, the man who sauntered up to the bar was sober. Soaked from head to toe, but sober. The water droplets clinging to his jacket caught the low lights like prism reflections, and the beanie perched atop his head had seen dryer days. Dark facial hair framed his face, and you could make out the deep blue of his eyes under the thick furrow in his brow as he approached.
“Sorry sir, we’re closing up for the night. Taps are dry and the kitchen is closed,” you said as he settled into his seat. He grunted in response, leaning on the bar for stability. Clearly, someone had had a rough night.
“S’fine. Can I just get a water please?” he requested. Killian let out a hushed scoff behind you, to which you gave a swift back kick to his shin.
“Of course! We’d be happy to,” you responded, shooting a glare over your shoulder. Killian sighed dramatically as he went to fetch a glass.
“Fiiiine, but I’m not washing this damn cup again…” he called. You rolled your eyes. You and Killian had gone to school together, go figure the guy who majored in theater design would be so dramatic. But you knew beneath it was the most genuine person who could never truly be mad at you.
“Apologies for his lack of hospitality, we’ll be closing soon. Won’t be opening again until 5:00 PM,” you explained. The man nodded and hummed in acknowledgement.
“Sorry to disrupt then, miss,” he rumbled, sinking into the seat further. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulder, each joint popping and cracking with what was frankly an alarming volume. Straightening his back, he sighed. Despite his bushy brows, you could still feel his eyes on you as he spoke. “So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing down here in the dark?”
“Surviving.”
Your answer wasn’t wrong. You were fresh out of college, and by the grace of whatever omnipotent being was out there in the universe, you got a job. Was it at all what you wanted? No, but the food was good and the pay was enough that you didn’t mind completely fucking up the sleep schedule you’d had since basically forever. The man snorted a laugh.
“Don’t I know it...” he trailed off, peering up to look at your name tag. It was then you noticed the dark marks on his face, the trickle of something other than water coming down his forehead. This man had clearly been in more than just the rain. You gasped.
“Oh my, sir, your face! Did you need the bathroom?” you said, alarmed. Just then, Killian rounded the corner, glass in hand.
“Oh no no no NO! I am NOT mopping those floors again! The schedule says I’m out of here at 2, and you best believe I will be out of here at 2,” he said, sliding the ice water to the mystery patron. You scowled at your coworker, but the man at the bar shook his head.
“M’ alright, love. Thanks,” he said over the top of his drink. But you weren’t satisfied with his answer. You snapped your fingers at Killian.
“Go make an ice pack and grab me a bandage,” you demanded, tone laced with concern. You didn’t have to turn to see Killian roll his eyes before walking back off. Without much thought, you grabbed a paper towel and leaned over the bar to dab at the blood on the man’s forehead. He straightened a bit, clearly taken aback, but didn’t make a remark. He just kept sipping his water. After the towel stopped coming back red, you settled back behind the bar. The man ran two fingers over where yours had just been, inspecting the clean digits. The man behind the bar chuckled.
“You take such good care of all your customers, doll?” He smiled, taking another sip of his drink.
“Yeah, it’s called being a decent person,” you replied.
“Nah, it’s called being nice makes more tip money,” retorted Killian, playfully tossing the ice pack to you. You caught it with a smile.
“Or maybe I just didn’t want to hear you complain about having to clean blood off the bar again.” You took the bandage from Killian with a playfully snarky smirk and passed both items to the man. All three of you shared a laugh before your phone buzzed. 1:55 AM. Almost time to go. You and Killian exchanged knowing looks before he walked off, presumably to grab your belongings and lock up. The man stretched as he got off the stool.
“Guess that’s my cue. What time did you say you open again?” he asked, fishing in his pockets.
“5:00 PM.”
“And when will you be here next?”
You swallowed thickly, thinking of the bruises on the man’s face. Was it really safe to give him such information? But you liked to believe the best-case scenario. Maybe he just needed somewhere to go with a familiar face.
“Saturday. I’ll be in at 7, and the entertainment starts at 10. We’ve got some local performers featured if you’re interested,” you answered. The man smiled.
“S’pose I’ll see you then. You both take care now,” he said, sliding two crips fifties across the bar and nodding before heading for the door. You stood in shock until Killian came back, both your bags in hand.
“Girl, the fuck did you do while I was gone?” he asked incredulously, picking up one of the bills. You shrugged as you took your bag.
“Nothing, just told him I’d be back this weekend and he gave us these,” you replied as you tucked the tip safely in your wallet. “Maybe you’d get more tips if you weren’t so damn bitter.”
“Psh, as if. He was totally hitting on us.”
“Us? All you did was bitch!”
“Duh. All this ain’t easy to get.”
“That’s why your still single.”
“No you.”
You cackled on your way to the door. Even if Nicky’s Place was the last place you’d imagined working at, with friends like Killian and folks like the mystery man keeping you company, maybe it wasn’t that bad after all.