In which James explains that he could never be a rocker because “I get drunk after two pints”.
So…drunk!James McFassy fic, please? Bonus points for Michael’s bartender training? *hopeful eyes*
ninemoons42 writes: lightweight? right
Everyone else in the bar is staring avidly at the altercation outside the windows; all Michael knows is that he’s got ten bucks riding on the girls kicking the stuffing out of the hapless sod in the run-down suit, and since one of the girls happens to be his best friend Rose, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a little something extra in his pocket come closing time.
The problem is, he’s not going to be able to get to closing time without ignoring the - kid/boy/whatever - who’s staked out one end of the bar. Blue eyes, Scottish burr, freckles everywhere the dim lighting catches his skin - and there are also long-since-dried trails on his cheeks, skin gone stiff after soaking in saltwater.
Michael hadn’t needed to ask why the kid was drinking. Heartbreak was something terrible and vicious and for some people it needed to be let out, while for others it needed to be drowned. The kid had wanted to drown his, and Michael’d let him.
Which means that now he feels a little responsible - and also, maybe shamefacedly, a little amused - because the kid is already listing dangerously to the side after two pints and a shot of something violently magenta. “‘M Scottish, I can handle my drink,” he’d said, the only thing Michael’d heard him say other than his drink order, and that might have been true then but that’s not true now, not with the droop in his posture, not with the shaking in his shoulders that means tears or anger or defeat or worse.
“Last call,” Edi says, and he rings the bell over the bar.
The kid doesn’t flinch, but he does reach, lethargic movements, for the wallet chained to his pocket. “How much?” he slurs when Michael hurries over. And: “Michael. Watched you make everyone else’s drinks. You’re good. Why didn’t you pour me anything?”
“Because I don’t know you and I’m already worried for you,” is something that Michael very carefully does not say.
The kid overpays and waves off all attempts to present him with change.
Michael watches him weave out the door, and doesn’t notice when one of the regulars tosses him a tenner - nor does he notice the indulgent smile on Rose’s face.
All he knows is that he wants to look after that kid whose name he doesn’t even know, but who knows his.
He catches up to the kid and says, “You need a place to stay?”
“Okay,” is the quiet response. And: “James. I’m James. Hi Michael.”
Michael’s already thinking about making him a full Irish breakfast in the morning.
that poster in the back WHAT IS IT?
I bought it at a local convention in 2011, I think! It was the only other booth besides mine that had XMFC merch, even though I actually met a lot of cherik shipper bros there, haha.
I wish I knew who the artist was, though ;3;