Bar Red's Redemption ✔

c h a p t e r. 22

"Anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor."
— Queen Elizabeth the first

chapter 22

It was mere hours after Clementine and Bar officiated their relationship and the couple had spent their time cuddling, kissing, and watching whichever movies the little goddess picked.

Which was an odd mix between Disney or horror movies.

But Bar didn't mind— he got to have his little goddess on top of him and enjoy her company without any worries.

Without thinking about his deadbeat father, without being concerned over Gwen or anyone else, without feeling disgusted with himself.

He was just with the goddess, his books, and Culpa.

It was bliss.

Then, however, Gus and Law had entered their best friend's apartment, wanting to know if the brute was okay and starting bickering with one another, which Bar suspected they had been doing the entire way there.

Neither of them yet knowing Bar had told his girl about his self-made scars nor that he asked her to be his.

But, they had an inkling towards the latter with how genuinely happy Bar seemed to be.

"Someone is bothering me," Law announces, throwing a pillow towards Gus.

Concerned, Clementine leaned forward from her spot on the floor, petting Culpa and writing.

"W-who? Are you, are you okay?"

"Pfft, yeah." Lawrence nods, catching the pillow when Gus throws it back to him rather harshly. "It's only Gus."

"Oh," The little goddess relaxed.

"Fucking rude," Gus huffs. "But like, if someone was actually bothering you, you could just be a chilled chicken nugget like that? Even when sleeping?"

"Nah, man, if I had someone after me I'd sleep with a dagger," Law said.

"Weak potato," Gus said. "I'd have a gun under my pillow."

The idiot doesn't even have a gun, Bar thought as he rolled his eyes.

"That's, that's sad," Clementine said. Law crossed his arms and Gus narrows his eyes rather sassily.

"Uh-huh." Gus points at her. "And what deadly weapon would you take to bed with you, Ms. Badass?"

"Oly," Clementine points to Bar and he snorts.

Bar would gladly go to bed with Clementine. Any night, any reason. He'd be there.

Gus deflates, "Fair but rude! We all can't have a giant, hulking, muscle-machine that we can take to bed."

"The fuck did you just call me?" Bar snapped, looking over towards his best friend from where he was reading on his favorite chair.

"A giant, hulking, muscle-machine."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay," Gus leaned forward, winking. "Daddy."

Bar, keeping his place in his book with his thumb, stood up, his expression dark, lips thinned in a neutral yet scornful way and eyes narrowed— his lethally calm expression that let everyone around know that Gus was about to have his ass handed to him.

It was a look that, unfortunately, Bar had given his best friends many, many times.

Gus squealed, frightened, and yelled, "I yield! I yield! I take it back, you are not my daddy."