the summer crowd was vastly different than the regulars you're accustomed to, finding immense difficulty to keep up with new faces and names when they're exchanged, if at all. if only to make your life easier, you try, eyes skimming the room when it becomes almost impossible to move around, the weekends holding firm to the college horde. you don't think you've ever made so many shots in such a short time frame, yet auto pilot kicked kicks in a little more forcefully than you intend.
with minimal deftness, fingers move on their own volition, eager to hold fast within a rhythm so steady that it causes the clock to move a little faster. this overcrowded room was your first interaction with a rush, lest in the bartending scene, so a clumsiness consumes you, even with an experienced bartender on your left.
suddenly, there was a quiet shift in the tone of the evening, almost imperceptible at first. it began as the crowd had started to thin, somewhere between one or two in the morning, a tall stranger slipping through the door without so much as a sound. your co-worker's side of the bar is full still, mostly of their regulars, yet yours remains sparse. not that you could find it in you to particularly care, fingers wound around a dirty rag as you scrub the sticky counter.
rather smoothly, the man catches your eyes, fingers finding the brim of his unmarked baseball cap to nod your way, a simple greeting. he's got a charming smile, one you fumble to return, alongside the wave of your fingers in a hello. he enters alone, never looking around the room or toward the door as if he was waiting for someone to join him. effortlessly, he takes the stool right to your left, not quite in front of you, but close enough.
upon your greeting, he had asked you what your favorite beer was, something that typically doesn't happen in a bar full of dirty martinis and green tea shots. it had taken you a second to gather your thoughts, caught off guard before ultimately pouring him a draft, your favorite local pour. you can feel an undeniable rosy hue arise to your cheeks as he watches you carefully, dare you say a hint of awe adhered to his face, but that could be misplaced.
freely, he grabs and seizes attention throughout the night, nursing the same beer you’d given him just after he arrived. from the short interaction, the blonde man behaved like a gentleman, thanking you politely in a deep southern accent before staring at the contents of the stein intently.
you never gathered the courage to ask his name that first night, but you had gathered a few things from the quiet man. he was an observer, blue eyes moving around the room but never lingering on anyone for too long, surveying the bars content with some delight, a radiating happiness permeating from him. though, you’d noticed he’d hardly touched his beer, causing a twinge of confusion and guilt to settle within your chest. perhaps he didn’t like it, and your choice didn’t suit his expectations, but every time your lips parted to ask if he wanted something else, another patron called your attention.
it’s half past three in the morning when he leaves a eerily crisp twenty on the counter, tipping his hat to you once more.
“G’night,” he'd drawled, freckles prominent under the soft lights from the tv’s overhead. “Appreciate yer kindness, y/n.”
suddenly, your mouth goes dry, stumbling over a reply. “Get home safe.” you scrounge, fingers raising to ghost over your name tag, partially forgetting you’d ever put it on in the first place.
he returns the same time the following day, and once more your curiosity consumes you. as unassuming as you can, you peer just past the glass door to find a deep olive jeep wrangler, a silver star adorning the passenger door, some mud caked on the tires, likely from the earlier rain. he steps from the vehicle, brown work boots hitting the concrete before making his way across the parking lot, head on a cautious swivel.
the same as the night before, his posture stayed formal, yet his fingers slide in the front pockets of his jeans. as the door opens, you busy yourself with nothing in particular, doing your best to appear nonchalant as he slips into the same stool as the night before..
"Evening, y/n," he smiles warmly. "How's your day goin'?"
briefly, your heart skips a beat, suddenly remembering your name tag was most definitely sitting in the cupholder of your car. he went out of his way this time, and the least you can do is return the favor.
"Evening," you hum, forcing your posture to relax. "So far so good. How was your day...?"
he chuckles, eyes almost alight. "That's what ah like to hear," he rumbles, leaning forward an inch. "All good. Friends call me Hound."
he stares at you earnestly, as if he expected a certain reaction at his revelation. though unconventional, the crucial part to that was he said his friends call him that, surely bypassing some formalities between the two of you.
"Glad to hear it, Hound." you reply, a genuine smile unable to leave your face. "What are we having today?"
"I never caught the name of it," Hound breathes, arms resting atop the bar casually. "But whatever ya poured yesterday. Yer favorite,"
his shoulders sag briefly when you return a look of confusion, brows furrowed. "I thought-" you start, but promptly shake your head to dismiss the notion. "Nevermind. Sure, be right back."
you turn to grab the glass from the shelf behind you, still feeling Hound's eyes as you move behind the bar. he isn't checking you out, he's surveying your hands and the other many bottles along the wall, curiosity always peaked.
the beer is hardly half poured when Hound speaks again, an additional cheery twinge to his words. "'M a lil new 'round here, y/n. You have any recommendations fer some stuff to do?"
"Such as?" you inquire, pulling the glass from the spout and simultaneously grabbing a coaster, setting the beer in front of him. "Not to burst your bubble, but unfortunately, here is kinda the middle of nowhere."
"Thank you." he says, another award-winning smile send your way. "And, ah don't mind about that. Jus' wanted to hear what you like to do fer fun."
"Me?" you respond, dumfounded once more. "How about I put together a list, and I can send it your way the next time I see you."
Hound's entire face somehow brightens even more, fingers holding the glass placidly, yet still never taking a sip. "I'd appreciate that, a lot. Deal."
[a/n: this has been in the drafts for a whilee. i've been putting off polishing it up, but I'll leave it here so maybe eventually a part two :) i love this trope, could not help myself!]
