Smol and Smoller
This wasn’t anything new. Come in, get out. Remember to lock the doors behind you. It wasn’t a problem it was just something that needed to be done every once and a while. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t twenty one yet and all the bartenders never let him have anything under the table no matter what he offered or said. It wasn’t his fault that it was a chore to fall asleep sometimes and this was the fastest thing to get to. It wasn’t even his fault that sometimes he nightmares that made this necessary.
But oh well, bottoms up.
Stitch had a way of getting around and getting through locked doors, while in itself is no easy matter, was something that he’d taught himself to do long ago. Luckily for him the door to the bar car only had one lock that was easy peasy to crack if you knew how to turn it. After that it maybe took him five minutes to get his hands on the good stuff that wasn’t the stuff that tasted like absolute ass.
Normally he would have just taken it back to his own car. Normally he would have just poured himself shots in the privacy of his own room without anyone to come busting in and finding his drunk ass until it was far too late for him to completely embarrass himself. But here he was, spinning himself in one of the bar stools already three shots into a bottle of Smirnoff. And two bottles of Angry Orchard because, hey, adult applejuice. He really needed a chaser for these but fuck it, too late now. The room was already spinning and somewhere in the back of his mind he scolded himself for being such a fucking light weight.
It wasn’t until after he’d stumbled out of his seat, intent on going back to his car with at least one of the bottle in tow that he heard the click of the door that signaled that he had in fact forgotten to lock it behind him. He quickly fixed himself against the bar to give himself some semblance of soberness and trying to look as innocent as possible.
“Heeeeey, what’s uuupp. I was jus’ uh- lookin’ for.... something.”