age of service | henry & emma.
For all of the places Thomas drags him to, Aesop’s probably the one he has the least problems with. Sure, in most ways the bar’s not any different from anywhere else his foster dad has friends; it’s still loud, reeks of spilled old booze, and Henry always manages to stick his shoe in something he’d rather not think about.
But there’s single table in a darkened corner back behind the pool table that’s easy for him to hide himself away in until Thomas is done, and the Vikings’, a local pool team, practices are kind of funny, he guesses, though he still thinks they take the team name a little too far when they show up already half to Valhalla. Plus, Aesop’s serves food — which means that, more than Henry getting a chance at a half-decent burger, he also’s got a better chance of blending in with the rest of the crowd. Maybe eighteen’s still a far way off from fourteen, but the distance to twenty-one is harder to fake and, so long as he keeps to his corner, he doesn’t risk the chance of getting kicked out.
And one of Thomas’ friends is a bartender here with some pull, anyway, so if all else fails Henry guesses there’s that.
His foster dad’s hanging out with that exact friend at the moment, and Henry glances up at a particularly loud guffaw, eyes narrowed more from the confused, frustrated squint he’d been giving his homework than any real annoyance with Thomas and his version of a Casual-Friday-on-a-Tuesday. Thomas might be...a lot of things, but he’s also harmless — even when he does have half his neck down a bottle. Confirming that the loudness is just the result of Thomas’ friend’s joke, and not the sheer level of drunk that’ll end with Henry having to figure out how to get the man back to their place without catching all the wrong kinds of attention, Henry turns his sour glare back to the notebook in front of him. The numbers and letters of his algebra homework keep switching around the longer he stares at them, and it’s not like he can tell them to cut it out; how’s he supposed to get any of this done if it doesn’t just work with him?
The tin of the bar rises as the door opens and a whole new round of patrons come stumbling in, bringing the night’s wind chasing right after them. It’s already enough to ruffle the paper, making Henry lose his place — though it’s not like he was making much headway on them before anyway — but the resulting gust from the door slamming shut sends it scattering to the floor. It feels like everyone surrounding him looks his way, and it’s with a sinking dread in his stomach that Henry dives to the floor to scramble after them as fast as he can.
