I've been sitting on this idea all night about meeting Simon at the club. (not edited, sfw)
You've got work tomorrow, but your roommate so politely asked for you to be the driver, with the added bonus of your drinks going on their tab. Fair play, you suppose you can tough it out. Besides, your roommate adds, the theme tonight is 2010s.
It's all well and good. The cover fee is reasonable, you arrive before most of the crowd, and you've got a free supply of non-alcoholic drinks on your roomie's card. In fact, it's kind of nice. The music is good - you haven't heard it in a while. You even see a group of hot, brooding guys walk in shortly after you and make their way to a booth. Eye candy.
Well, all good things come to an end.
The crowd piles in around 9:00 pm, making it damn near impossible for you and your roommate to move between The Spot you two claimed and the bar. You've lost sight of those hot guys (what a shame, you thought the blonde might be a real catch), and now the music is giving you a pounding headache. To top it all off, the bartender pours the root beer you ordered into a solo cup instead of just handing you the can.
And sure, it's fine. It's all perfectly fine and good and awesome, especially when someone taps you on the shoulder, you turn, and then catch your wrist on their bicep and your root beer goes fucking flying.
"Holy shit."
"Woah-"
You're mortified to find that the blonde guy in that group of brooding men that came barreling through the door earlier is, in fact, standing before you. You hardly catch a single detail on his face between the flashing lights and the way you strategically avoid looking him in the eyes. All you can focus on is the way the root beer begins to dry on your hand, leaving it unpleasantly sticky and leaving you embarrassingly red-handed.
Apologies leave you left and right as you escort him to the bathroom.
"God, I'm so sorry-" He slumps over as he wades through the crowd, but still manages to stand out as the tallest in the room.
"I'll pay for anything I ruined, I swear." Occasionally, he looks back to make sure he hasn't lost you in the sea of people. There's a natural sneer in his face, a furrow in his brow that's probably been held as long as he's been alive. His nose hooks down. His hair is buzzed short. Eyes are dark.
"Uh- is your phone okay? I-I hope I didn't, like, break it or anything-" By the bathroom door, you dutifully perch yourself just outside, and watch as this hulking brute of a man wrenches his head left to right. He makes sure no one else is watching before grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you into the single bathroom with him.
You're at a loss for words. He doesn't say anything or even look at you as he grabs a handful of paper towels and starts to blot at his clothes.
"Seemed like you needed some quiet," He finally mumbles. His voice is impossibly deep, with a rough timbre that echoes a bit in the bathroom. Usually, you'd think a man would have to force a voice like that - like they'd do it to peacock. But with this guy... his voice matches the commanding presence he carries with him naturally.
It's so much easier to concentrate without all the people and the music and the flashing lights. He was right.
"I'm sorry." You're coming up short on words time and time again. How the hell did this night go so wrong? You wonder if your roommate is worried about you, if following this guy to the bathroom was the wisest decision.
But his face softens. He sighs, before stepping aside and away from the sink. His head flicks up as he gestures to the empty cup you're still holding.
"Why don't you toss that and wash your hands?"
Dammit. You look like a bumbling idiot. You almost wish you had gotten drunk off your ass tonight so it could spare you the embarrassment of being sober and clumsy. You quickly toss the cup in the trash and wash the sticky root beer residue from your hands.
"Was gonna ask if you wanted a drink, by the way. So it's a good thing you spilled that one on me."
"What?" Your head lifts, and you catch his eye in the bathroom mirror. He's leaning against the opposite wall. Like he's aware of just how imposing he is, he refuses to loom over you and stay close by.
He doesn't repeat himself. You both know what he said.
You learn at the bar that his name is Simon. He saw you when he walked in and thought you were cute. Simon makes sure to ask the bartender for your new root beer in the can.
