THIRD PERSON
You're a bartender at a bar that Logan Howlett is a frequent at.
According to your research, Logan used to be a man who was a part of a team of people who saved others. He used to be great, until something happened that made him lose it all.
Everyone knows who he is, but no one treats him with the same respect as they used to.
Because all he is now is a nobody. A nobody who used to be somebody. Tragic.
However, this night is no different than the rest. You clock in for your 6pm-2am shift at the local bar, and are greeted by the same man that sits at the same spot daily.
Logan Howlett.
He spends all of his time now, at the bar, because he has nothing else to do, nobody else to see. He is a nobody.
A hot nobody at that.
Nevertheless you return to the bar from the back room after clocking in.
"Another beer, please." Rang out from a half-drunken Logan.
"Coming up," you reply, secretly rolling your eyes as you pop the cap with the bottle opener you have to keep handy for your favorite alcoholic.
"Thanks," his same gruff voice said.
You hear that same voice every night, and somehow, you still aren't tired.
You've considered quitting this shit job so many times but then it meant you wouldn't get to see him everyday without looking like an alcoholic to the common folk, even if you didn't drink while you were there.
Besides you needed an excuse for being there to see him all the time. It would be awfully weird if you went to a bar, without wanting to drink, and just stared at the same man for hours on end.
You watched Logan slowly sip from his bottle in your peripheral while making other customers orders.
You've been thinking for weeks about asking him out, possibly. The idea always made you nervous though, but tonight you were feeling brave.
The hours rolled on slowly until it was around 1am
Eight hour shifts always sucked here, but seeing Logan made it a little more worthwhile.
FIRST PERSON
I just cleaned my eleventh shot glass of the hour.
It's 1:03am.
I am so ready to go home but then i won't see Logan until two days from now.
Not to sound like a middle school girl, but that is way too long.
I take another glance at him. He's drinking another beer.
Does it not get tiring?
He finished the bottle and slightly slams it onto the bar, just like every over one.
Apparently he uses a lot more of his strength than needed, and a lot of the time it's not on purpose.
Fascinating.
Or hot.
Whichever sounds less like my thong is damp right now.
