Atlas

One

Atlas - responsible for bearing the weight of the heavens on his shoulders, a punishment bestowed on him by the Greek God Zeus.

"Can you cover my shift?"

"No."

The bartender – Ben - looked at Atlas, frowning at his prominent eyebags. He closed the backdoor and stepped out into the moonlight illuminating the back of the bar. The music of the club lulled in the background. 

"I'm the owner." 

"Yes. And every time you've asked me to work the bar, what have I said?"

Ben raised an eyebrow. His beer belly peeked through the bottom of his shirt, but even when he was angry, Ben had the friendliest twinkle in his eyes. "I'll pay you more." He argued. 

"I don't care. I don't like people."

Atlas bent down and took a seat on the stairs illuminated by the moonlight at the back of the bar. Ben joined him and took out a cigarette pack from his pocket. "Alright. It's a slow night, anyways. Reckon Phoebe will be fine." 

The door opened and closed again. Someone stepped outside.

Atlas sighed. He hated making unnecessary conversations. 

"How many times have you read that?" Phoebe sat down next to Ben and pointed at a little book peeking out of Atlas's pocket. The Prisoner of Zenda. He loved that book.

Atlas didn't look at them. As far as people went, Ben – the older Spanish bartender, and Phoebe – the blue-haired barista – weren't bad people. Quite the contrary. He just didn't prefer company.

Ben went back inside, deciding that the cold midnight air wasn't his thing.

Atlas glanced at Phoebe who had just popped a cigarette in her mouth. His eyes lingered on her neck.

"You don't need to make bad decisions just cuz you fucked up once."

Phoebe turned to him and pulled up her collar, over the love bites covering her skin. She raised an eyebrow, although she knew that he knew she'd been getting drunk and taking guys home a lot these past few weeks, and it wasn't a good decision because she got attached to people too quickly.

"I think that's the most thoughtful sentence you've ever said to me."

Atlas reached over and took the cigarette from her. He put it between his own lips.

"Just be careful." He mumbled.

She reached for a bottle of vodka from the storage crates. She looked at him. "Just a little?"

"Only for tonight." He winked.

She smiled and got up.

"You know, you should read something else."

"Recommendations?" He blew out a puff of smoke into the cold air. Even after so many packs, he resisted the urge to cough when he inhaled too quickly.

"Try Jane Austin." She shrugged.

He bit back a laugh inside him. He was a second-year literature student – she sometimes forgot that.

"Classes are starting next week anyways. The campus is going to be filled with freshers." She sighed. "I'll miss lazy summers."

Atlas didn't reply. Phoebe tended to ramble. But she was right - in the small town an hour away from the legendary Yorkshire moors, the only source of income for the city was University of Borrough, which racked in an impressive amount of international students every semester.