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“Do you make a habit out of showing up to bars exclusively to sit by yourself and look… vaguely upset?”
The low voice cutting through the too-loud music that flooded the small, local bar made Damon look up from his drink. A remarkably tall stranger stood before him. Long, white hair framed his pale face, topped with a large-brimmed hat, and a smile pulled the ends of his mouth up. His eyes were covered by a pair of deep red sunglasses.
Damon wasn't one to talk to strangers. He understood that sitting alone in a bar essentially invited people to strike up a conversation with him, but it wasn't like he came here to meet someone. He wasn't thrilled to be here to begin with, but he hoped he could at least spend the night drinking excessively on his own, not being bothered by some guy. He pressed his lips together.
“Yes, it's how I spend every Friday night,” Damon replied sarcastically.
The stranger laughed; somehow, it was still clear over the pounding bass and synths that flowed from the speakers. “I wouldn't know,” the stranger said. “I don't come here much. I take it you don't either?”
“Right,” Damon mumbled affirmatively. “This isn't my scene, really.”
“But you're here anyway,” the stranger pointed out. His smile grew a little. “Why is that? Couldn't you just… leave?”
Damon looked down at the soda in front of him. He swirled the cup a little. “No,” he answered; although Damon couldn't see it, the stranger raised his eyebrows in intrigue. “I came here with- acquaintances. I'm the designated driver.” He cut his eyes to a nearby dance floor. The stranger followed his gaze, then turned back to him.
“That explains your drink choice, then,” he commented with a small chuckle. “I am sorry about that, though. Being abandoned like that isn't ever much fun, is it?”
Damon merely hummed in response.
A moment passed. The song melted into another indistinguishable, trashy EDM track that made Damon's head hurt just like the last song did, and the song before that.
“Would you like some company?”
Damon blinked. He looked up at the man, expecting to find a mocking look on his face; instead, he found complete sincerity. This stranger wasn't somebody Damon would ever think would have any interest in him– not with how cool he looked; his clothes were dark, feminine, and gothic, styled in a way Damon hadn't ever seen before. Dramatic makeup covered the majority of his face. Suddenly, Damon was starting to feel underdressed.
The offer was tempting, though. Damon wasn't particularly close with the people who invited him here, and none of them were interested in actually being around him at the moment. He was in no state to deny friendship.
“...If you have nothing better to do, I suppose that would be fine,” Damon muttered.
The stranger smiled softly. He slid into the chair across from Damon, smoothing out his skirt as he made himself as comfortable as he could be in a chair that wasn't built for someone his size. He pulled himself closer to the table, folding his large hands on the table.
“Do you mind if I ask about who you are?” the stranger asked.
Damon tensed, pushing his glasses up the narrow bridge of his nose. “Why do you want to know about who I am?” he fired back.
“I enjoy meeting people,” he replied after a beat. His smile sharpened. “Why do you not want me to know who you are?”
Damon's already tense posture worsened. He froze, blinking. He hated how the stranger’s eyes were covered– he couldn't tell where he was looking. If he so much as glanced at the branching scars bursting from either side of his mouth, Damon would throw his soda onto him and leave without waiting for anyone else. He couldn't gauge anything thanks to the deep ruby shields the stranger held up.
“Why does that matter? Can't you take ‘no’ for an answer?”
The stranger held both of his hands up and leaned back, laughing softly. “I can, I can. Sorry. If you really want me to go, I'll leave. Promise.”
Damon glared for a moment, then his gaze fell back onto his glass. If he turns the stranger away, what will he have left to do tonight? Stare at alcohol he can't have while coworkers he doesn't like– but is obligated to watch– dance the night away? He'd been doing that, and the single hour that passed during that time felt like four.
Stifling a groan, he looked up at the stranger again.
“You can stay. Just- lay off the personal questions. Er, please.”
The stranger laughs again, just as clear above the bone-rattling bass as before.
“I'll try.”