Dulcet (TylerxBrendonxJosh)

1. Want

He taps his fingers against the top of bar, it's a soft oak wood and a little bit worn.

The wood is chipping slightly, it's not easily visible but Josh is there often enough to realize it, to feel it when he's rubbing his thumb against the edge of the counter, it could use a bit of refurnishing. Along with the chipping, the counter is covered in sharpie. Phone numbers, lyrics, you name it. And you'd think vandalizing the bar top would be discouraged, which it is, however, that doesn't stop Josh from giving out a sharpie to the occasional customer.

Josh is there nearly every day of the week. Not because he wants to but because he can be. He needs money so he picks up as many shifts as he can and he doesn't object to working overtime either. Plus, being a bartender is good, he's good at it and he enjoys it, flirting with customers comes easy to him, he brings in most of his tips that way.

When he serves drinks, he always has the most genuine smile he can muster. And when his co-workers ask if he'll take their shifts he always says yes.

Tonight, Ashley was supposed to come in and unsurprisingly: She never did. There's always supposed to be more than one employee working and it's definitely not regulation to only have him on shift regardless of how busy the bar is.

Josh always takes one for the team though, like tonight and every other night, Josh works his ass off and it shows when his check is just a little bit bigger than his co-workers. His boss likes him for it, he likes him a lot.

Josh ignores the fact that his touches seem to linger when he talks to him, maybe there's a hand on his shoulder, touching his arm or maybe he insists on getting closer then Josh is comfortable with when they talk. He pretends that his boss doesn't want anything from him other than hard work and he pretends that his job is okay, because it is. It's okay. He's okay.

The bar is practically vacant tonight, has been for hours. Josh is playing with a line of five shot glasses. He pokes them with delicate fingers, free hand under his chin in boredom. He moves them, they shuffle and clink together.

There's gentle murmuring. There are twelve people in the bar with him. Twelve customers. He'd counted them all already, then he'd played that game where you make up a life story for someone based off of their actions. He'd already served them all too, a few beers, a few vodkas and one scotch.

There's only one girl, she's sat alone, drinking her breakup away, Josh can tell. In fact, he's sure of this. She's solemn, her hair is a mess, her voice was wavering when she requested five shots of vodka and she had cried out the name Adam three times already. She's still crying, blonde hair getting in her eyes, makeup running down her cheeks. she looked tired, her eyes red and puffy.

He'd already checked up on her twice and cut her off from any more alcohol. She hadn't complained, she'd thanked him and Josh had patted her shoulder like he knew her.

She was more interesting than everyone else and she kept drawing his attention with her sobs and little sniffs.

The group of men watching sports on the one tv the bar had, they were louder, they were drinking beers. Josh ignores them. Mostly because he doesn't particularly like them, they've been here for an hour. Not very long, he assumes they'll come by an ask him for a few more beers within the next thirty minutes.

The door opens and there's someone new. It's no surprise. It's only nine, he assumes there will be a few more people that'll come in and that'll be it for the night.