Catalyst Encounters // Brallon AU

5. Stagnation and Intoxication

"And I was a ball hair away from sleeping then I accidentally spewed all over his shoes," Alex gasped around the straw in his cocktail. His face twisted as if he was unsure whether the entire situation was hilarious or mortifying.

Dallon decided for him.

"And you enjoy that kind of embarrassment?" He dried off a wine glass and set it back in the cabinet behind the bar. "I might cut your drink limit a bit closer tonight so you don't obliterate your social reputation."

Alex snorted, "Too late for that, bro, I'm just embracing it now. Give us another." Alex held up his glass.

Taking it from him, Dallon reflected that Alex was definitely his favourite regular. He was honest and chatty, and made Dallon's life seem a little more in order. For all his grievances about his job - the long hours and disrespectful customers - Alex was one of the few reasons he hadn't thrown in the towel and bailed. He did always have the best drunk stories.

Just then, a rowdy stout man barged in as Dallon set down another Cosmopolitan in front of Alex. His movements were sluggish and he held a half-empty bottle in one hand. A pub crawler, Dallon mused. He staggered up to the counter, sloshing his drink as he sat down haphazardly.

"Beer," he ordered.

Somewhat reluctantly, Dallon opened a fresh bottle for him. He swigged half of it in one go and scrunched his face up. "The fuck is this?" he barked.

"Beer? Like you asked for?" Dallon reminded him.

"It tastes like piss!"

Dallon sighed. So he was going to be one of those ones. Despite standing at six foot three, many drunks still tried to square up to him for seemingly no reason other than to make his job harder.

"Well I wouldn't know how to compare the two, but if you want a different brand, you'll have to look somewhere else," Dallon retorted, straightening up to his full height.

The man bristled and tanned the rest of the beer served to him anyway. He huffed and pulled out his phone to play with. It was very much a tame encounter by comparison to the others Dallon had been subjected to, and he thankfully stepped back to the other end of the counter to Alex, who was much better company.

"You'd do better as a teacher than wasting away in here, man," Alex commented quietly.

Dallon hummed, "So I can waste away surrounded by even more arrogant shits? Pass."

Alex snorted and sipped at his drink. "I thought you liked putting people in their places."

Dallon considered that he maybe did get some kind of satisfaction out of shooting down the haughty, entitled ones, but it was more just an unwritten responsibility that came with the job. "I think I'd rather work by myself," Dallon shrugged.

"You're not like, socially inept though; it might be good for you," Alex chuckled mirthfully. "Plus, there's an opening at the high school down the road."

"I just have no patience for assholes. Can you keep an eye out for something else?"

Alex was a recruitment consultant - a handy contact, Dallon had thought when they first met, but he hadn't found any positions that interested him since they got talking a year ago.

"You know I always do. Offers have just been slow lately is all." Alex brought out his wallet and forked over the cash for his orders. He left a liberal tip as per usual and stood up with a flip of his bleached hair.

Dallon smiled, "Come back soon."

"I'll no doubt need to drown in my sorrows before next week," joked Alex. The sound of the door closing behind him was drowned out by the chatter of the other customers.

It left Dallon with a sense of isolation. There were less regulars in than usual for a Friday night, and Alex was only one of three who would actively come up to make conversation with him. He watched the sea of customers almost longingly as they drank away the day's problems, washing away their issues with merriment and conviviality.

Meanwhile Dallon worked in the background to clean up the aftermath. The remains of a cheery work night out left on the tables at the booths; the lipstick residue on the wine glass of a wife being treated on her anniversary; the celebrations of an excitable teenage who'd just turned twenty-one and was eager to have her first legal drink.

Dallon was prone to irrational envy when he worked too much. He easily turned jealous of the large friend groups who could meet up for drinks most nights when Dallon only had two, and they barely got together once a week. Desirous of a thing he hadn't had in such a long time, he empathised with the ones drinking alone. He'd done the same on many nights when he wasn't working. Dallon was even content to serve the rude one from earlier and let him drink himself into oblivion if he stayed quiet.

Or so he thought when ten minutes later he was carrying him out of the bar.

"Tall motherfucker," the man shrilled drunkenly as they got outside. "Give me more beer." He threw an empty bottle weakly onto the road. Dallon sat him on the sidewalk kerb and didn't feel sympathetic enough to do more than that.

He reached inside the man's coat pocket and swiped his wallet to alleviate him of the money he owed. After which the wallet was safely tucked back into the coat and the man was none the wiser as Dallon turned to go back inside. He saw Brendon hovering by the door with knitted eyebrows.

"Did you just rob a drunk man?"

"What? No! He didn't pay at the bar."

Brendon's serious expression split into a grin, revealing that he had just been teasing. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of Dallon's parka and sauntered inside like he owned it. It was far too big on him.

Dallon followed and resumed his position behind the bar while Brendon took a seat on one of the stools.

"A gin and tonic?" Dallon offered.

Brendon waved off the suggestion, "Nah. I'll wait till after I've played." He plucked out his phone and sat it on the counter. "How about your number though?"

It was a smooth segue, Dallon acknowledged, but he'd finally been exposed to Brendon enough times that he managed to stop his cheeks from burning as the device was presented to him. Instead he smiled lazily and picked up the phone, punching in his cell number to a new contact which he chose to name as tall glass of water lmao.

Brendon laughed upon seeing it, saying, "I figured getting your number's a more definite way of seeing you again instead of lending a jacket."

The words made Dallon scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. In hindsight a normal human would probably have thought of that first when they were on the bridge.

"I'll catch you after the show. I hope you like tonight's stuff," Brendon continued. He shed Dallon's parka and draped it over the counter for him and then strolled through the backstage entrance.

After the usual fumbling with the lighting, Dallon saw Brendon stalk out onto the stage with the same paisley shirt on as before.

The performance was more emotional than the last, Dallon thought. The pieces weren't depressing or grim, but they instead felt bittersweet which he suspected had relation to the band issues Brendon told him about.

But he wasn't prepared for the finale song. After the small introduction when Brendon's voice weaved between the piano chords.

Dallon perked up at the low timbre. Even though Brendon had described it as 'his' band, Dallon hadn't even considered that it was Brendon who provided the vocals. Of course now he understood perfectly why that was. Brendon boasted a large range and had an evocative way of singing that enraptured Dallon throughout the song.

The last note of the performance dripped off the piano like a stray bead of water, and Dallon felt shamefully breathless in a way that his mother would have slapped him upside the head for. With the polite applause from the audience, Brendon swivelled off the piano stool to give them a grateful nod. He briefly swept his eyes over Dallon, who was almost uncomfortable at how enthralled he became during the song.

A indistinct shiver ran down Dallon's back and he asserted it was just the cold colours of the overhead lighting.