"Where's Joe?" You ask Sam, who's working behind the bar in the Lowlights, looking miserable as sin. He usually does when he's at work, to be honest.
He shrugs, polishing the beer taps absentmindedly, "I divvent kna, last I saw him he was knecking on with some lass owa there. And hello to you too."
"Fuck's sake," You groan. After trying the rest of his usual haunts, you'd spent the best part of an hour looking for your arsehole brother, thinking that the pub would be your best bet. At least Sam's working tonight. "Can I have a beer please?"
Sam grins, "Gonna have to see some ID pet."
"Get fucked Fender." Joe's 4 years older than you, he met Sam a couple of years ago when they went to sixth form together. You turned 18 months ago, finally legal to drink something other than pop, but Sam still refuses to serve you. He knows you're 18, him and the lads organised a monumental piss-up for your birthday.
He loves to annoy you, you've always thought the sadistic bastard must get a kick out of winding people up. "Orange juice it is then."
"You're a dickhead, Fender," You scowl. "Just give us a pint."
Sam smiles again, but finally pulls you a pint, "Seem to spend me life doing you favours, Y/N."
"Couldn't tell me where wor Joe is though, could yer?" You tease. If he's going to be a prick you can happily return the favour. "Because 'knecking on with some lass' really narrowed it down for us, didn't it?"
The door to the pub opens and then closes, letting in a cold gust of air. Suddenly Sam's face drops.
"What?" You ask, taking a drink.
He fakes a cough and nods to the door. The person who just came in was Dylan, your arsehole of an ex boyfriend.
"The fuck's he doing here?" Sam mumbles, wiping the bar much more aggressively than he was before. Joe and his friends hated Dylan from the start, more so when he broke your 16-year-old heart.
You shake your head, "Leave it. He's not worth it."
It's obvious that he's going to come and get a drink, it's a pub, so when he does it's no big surprise.
"Pint of lager please, mate." Just the sound of his voice makes your skin crawl.
Sam's face says it all. I'm not your fucking mate. Instead, he doesn't say anything and gives Dylan his pint.
"3.50." There's no emotion in his voice, not anger or bitterness. Nothing.
He slaps the money on the counter and walks off without a word. The last thing you want is for him to cause a scene. A quiet drink would be nice, for once.
"Twat," Sam mutters. For fuck's sake, why can't he just leave it? It seems like everyone took the breakup worse than you did, after the initial pain of it. But it's been 2 years, there's no point wallowing in it. Even if he was a cheating bastard.
Dylan turns around. "What'd you say?"
"You heard," Sam scowls. "Why do you just fucking do one?"
Your ex passes his pint to one of his friends. It's going to turn nasty, you just know it. Before you can move, an empty bottle gets thrown from behind you. Luckily, Sam ducks, but the bottle shatters against the wall behind him, sending glass flying. A sudden pain surges through your cheek. You raise your fingers to the source and they come back stained with blood.
Sam's gone from behind the bar, and is now having a full on fucking fist-fight with Dylan. Punches, and glasses, are getting thrown in every direction. Not fancying being collateral damage any more than you already are, you make a beeline for the toilets.
You look like shit with blood and mascara streaming down the right side of your face. You wipe away your tears and blood as best as you can. Thankfully, there's no glass stuck in your face, and it doesn't look like it'll need stitches.
A few minutes later, though it feels like an age, there's a knock on the door.
"Y/N, love, you in there?" It's Sam. "You don't have to open the door or owt, just let us know if you're there."
You cough, clearing your throat of tears, "I'm here."
"Are yer alright pet?" He asks.
You can't shut him out forever, so you unlock the door. Strangely, he doesn't look that bad. His eye'll probably bruise and his cheekbone's a tinged pink, but other than that there's barely a mark on him.
Sam pulls you into a hug as soon as you open the door, "I'm sorry love. I should've just left it."
"I want to go home, Sam," You cry, using his actual name for once instead of just his surname.
He takes you by the hand, "I'll walk you back."
"You don't have to." You hope he never lets go. The way his hand feels intertwined with yours is perfect. He doesn't feel like your brother's best friend anymore. He feels like yours.
Sam runs a thumb just under the cut on your face, "Looks nasty. Need A & E?"
"On a Friday night? In Newcastle?" You raise an eyebrow, "It'll have healed by the time I get seen."
His gaze flickers to your lips and then back again, "Kiss it better?"
"Aye go on then." Sam's lips press against her cheek, just for a second, but it sends electric currents cursing through your veins.
Footsteps approach from the corridor, stopping suddenly, "What. The Fuck." Shite. Joe's back.
Watching the people get lairy
It's not very pretty I tell thee
Walking through town is quite scary
Not very sensible
A/N: Finally updated something lmao. May also have started another Sam Fender fic out of pure procrastination
<3