A/N: Dedication goes to LYSSYLOVES1D for reading this entire speal in less than five hours and then proceeding to fangirl. I love you. That is all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Story Behind Him
*September 2, 2013*
The bar was an older one, located on the end of a certain street in West Meath, but with more of a backstreet alleyway tone to it than Irish tavern. Matthew Byrn sat on one of the last cracked leather barstools, uncharacteristically alone except for the weathered bartender polishing glasses to the side. His eyes trained on a booth near the front, he took another swig of hard whiskey, this one long and deep and entirely unlike his occasional sips from before. These seats held no particular speciality except for the reminder of a similar table located hundreds of miles away and across an ocean. And a special encounter from nearly three years ago. The first time they’d gone to America with Will and situated on the evening of January 16, 2011.
“Get off the tab- No! Jacen! You are a nineteen year old man and the oldest of us all. I’m sick of babysitting you all the time! You are an adult; act like it!”
He smiled in reminiscence. Extremely serious about his career, James had been so angry with Jace back then, especially at times like this, when Jacen might be putting said career in jeopardy.
“Lighten up, James; It’s just a bar.”
“And we’re in America! Even you are not allowed to drink here! Do you not see?! What if the press got ahold of us, huh? What then?!”
Matthew smiled down at his drink, contemplating the irony of the entire conversation. Back then, they were just barely dipping their toes into the raging fame around them. Back then, James was just being paranoid. Jacen had given up at that point, rolling his eyes and turning to the rest of them.
“What about you guys? You really going to just sit at home on your first time in New York City?! Mates. It’s NYC out there.”
Matthew had been one of the first to agree. That night? Not one of his finer moments. He'd stumbled out of the rusty bar near three am, leaving Jacen and William behind. Despite his drunken state, he still remembered every second of his next encounter.
The street had turned a little darker as he got farther from the noise and he couldn’t seem to get his bearings, couldn’t seem to remember where he was. Though softer, the lights around him were disorienting to his foggy brain and he searched for a place to stop, an alcove. The alleyway seemed to almost appear at his left, as if sensing his need.
He hadn’t seen her at first, huddled as she was, next to the large metal dumpster. When he’d finally noticed, he’d stumbled, his back hitting the wall opposite her, drawing her gaze.
She had the most beautiful eyes. Blue, but so light they seemed nearly transparent, except for the slivers of silver and the rings of gray around her pupils. Maybe the alcohol made them more interesting than they might otherwise have been, but the moment he saw them, everything else seemed to fall away.
“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.”
He started, his words climbing over themselves to get out.
“I sorry deep- I mean, deeply sorry I- I mean-”
“Ya, ya, I get it; you’re sorry. Don’t hurt yourself,” her response was dry and he raised his eyes slowly, ready to see the irritation on her face, but her mouth was quirked up in amusement, “What’s your name, Ireland?”
