Oneshots (Garrance Mostly) :)

The Drunk Night Befalls Upon Them

Eek! I'm reading some Wuthering Heights and am pumped up! First time reading it, I'm at chapter three and already hooked (although really confused because I don't know where its going with the storyline...). If someone can give me, like one of those book briefings like on the back of the book cover (the teaser basically) that'd be wonderful thanks.

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I tugged my brown leather jacket closer to my body as the brisk wind cut sharply against my face. It was nighttime, and I didn't really know where I was going, but my body kept making turns down a familiar road as it made the decision for me.

It was around midnight, but I knew that I wouldn't be going home any time soon. It just wasn't going to happen.

I held in a sigh as I spotted the small, rundown building still up and running at this time of night. Of course it would still be open.

My feet sludged up the steps of the creaking wood as I gripped the wobbly railing for somewhat of support. I could hear the loud chatter and clinking of glasses even outside the building, although that wasn't much of a feat, since the doors weren't exactly shut completely. They were jammed open and the doorknobs were useless to grab, if only for some normalcy did I do it anyways.

A few people turned in my direction as the door cracked and snapped oddly when I pushed it open. It didn't break off the hinges, though, not that I expected it to. They'd been like that since a few years back, when some drunk college kid rammed into them. As if weighted, the doors fell back closed behind me and the people took a quick once-over before returning to their loud conversations and drinks.

I pushed away my mind or any logical thoughts for the time being and grabbed a chair for my own at the bar table. This night was going to end well for me even if I have to shove it down my own throat to make it happen.

Rob -- the store owner and bartender -- nodded to me kindly before digging under the counter to fix my usual. We were close friends, but I kept that under wraps for people who attended often like me, who didn't already have a special connection with the gruff man.

His beard had grown out since the last time I saw him, and it looked like he had been digging into his own bar's stash of alcohol, as his eyes looked buzzed and he swayed carelessly from place to place. Luckily, he had trapped himself behind the bar to minimize any clumsy damage he might cause his own shop.

His hands worked diligently, however, despite him being drunk, as if on autopilot, him having doing this for years. It was his profession, to say the least, and he was making more than enough to supply good living conditions. I would know.

He slung my drink across the counter and I caught it swiftly, taking a swig of the familiar bitter taste that burned slightly going down my throat. I was use to beer; have been for years now.

"How'ya been? 'Hope life's treated ya fairly, fella." His country twang was so bad it always made a grin slowly come to my face as I tried to decipher his sentences.

"I'm doing alright, thanks, Rob. Don't look like life has been too good to you, though, has it, bud?"

He chuckled with a grimace and fixed an uncalled for drink, taking a swig for himself. So he has been drinking his own stash.

"The bartender life ain't for th' faint o' hearts, kid. I can tell ya that much. Don't think you gonna be fine and dandy livin' the 'good ol' life.' Find yo'self a wholesome job; Lord knows I shoulda done that a long time ago."

I nodded along, knowing long and well how true his words were. "Yessir, thanks."

His past experiences were shared with me some few years ago. I had been new to frequenting the quaint little bar, and Rob had taken a liking to me from the start. He's about 20 years older than me, but being 24 and loving his grungy and bad-boyish looks, I had went home with him a couple of nights. He was rowdy in the bed, I can tell you that much. It was amazing, but I didn't tell him that.