SILVERCHAIR imagines [requests OPEN]

a message in the dark

So much for a 'very short' imagine, huh, AnxietyBitchh lol

A Chris-centric imagine set in post-Diorama days... enjoy :) 

"Alrighty," Chris muttered to himself as he wiped the bar down with a wet cloth. "Ben is passed out over there." He jutted his pointer finger out in front of him as if his elbow was weighed down in cement. "And Dan has shown his bum more than once." He attempted to hide a giggle and hiccuped in the process. "I reckon this little party is now over."

I reckoned he was over, too. I saw him shove the wet cloth aside and pour us each another shot, but I couldn't stop him. He was too damn cute when he was tipsy. He was approaching the phase of drunkenness where he may or may not stumble and may or may not catch himself, but my smile kept spreading on my face. I spotted a smile on his face, too, just before he turned around to clank around some bottles.

He owned the bar above my tattoo parlor. He had been asking me, for months, to come up whenever my evening shifts ended, and I kept doing so. I can't resist the free shots, draft beer (so frothy and hoppy) and his eyes that twinkle in the lights above his head like little bowls of sugary and melted chocolate buttons.

"Hi," Daniel's voice was raspy and hung in the air between us. He brushed up against me, having little regard for my personal space. The tip of his cigarette was lit within the time it took for him to squint his eyes at me and say, "When are ya gonna give me that tattoo I asked for?"

I shook my head. "When you manage to actually get your ass into my chair."

He blew the cig smoke behind him and away from my face. His baby blues were watery and grey with liquor and little sleep. A frown played on his brows. "Yeah. I'm scared. It's gonna be a really big tattoo and it's gonna hurt a lot, but---" He took another drag from his cigarette and put his arm around my shoulders. "You'll take good care of me, won't ya, mujer?"

I could not contain my laughter. Chris turned around with a slight teetering to one side. I detected a slight pout on his lips as his eyes passed over Daniel's arm around me. "Hey, mate, why dontcha call you and Benny a taxi, huh?"

"Huh?" Daniel peeled his arm off of me and dug around the pocket of his satin jacket for his phone. He stuffed his cig between his lips and nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."

As Daniel sauntered over to the far corner of the bar where Ben was laying, snug as a bug sleeping off more beer than recommended for a bloke his height and weight, I traced my finger around the rim of my shot glass. "Last shot of the night. What should we toast to?"

Chris's dark brown curls were nestled atop his head and some were boyishly astray in his lashes. All of a sudden, it wasn't only the warmth from the beer and shots that I was feeling. This heat was growing from deep in my core. If I didn't already know the guy well, I would have shut my eyes and looked away. He had my full attention, though.

We raised our shot glasses in the air. Chris whispered, "Let's toast to ... surprises."

"Surprises," I repeated, a little curious, as our glasses spat out a proper clink before we put our heads back and downed our shots.

Not too long after, a taxi pulled up to fetch Ben and Daniel.

Ben, looking as if he were a tourist in the wrong country with his sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt on, gave Chris and I high-fives and fist pumps. "Aw, man," he said to Chris, "this night was epic. Thank you."

It was the same thing he pretty much said every night we all hung out, but it was always true.

Ben all of a sudden clambered on top of the bar and gave Chris a tight squeeze of a hug. He moaned, "I love you, man."