The old bartender working the quiet Tuesday afternoon shift had poured Dean another glass of whiskey before he’d even opened his mouth to ask for it. Dean looked up from his hands long enough to give a nod of thanks before pulling the new glass to his lips and taking a sip.
The bartender returned the bottle to its shelf and smiled behind his wiry beard.
“Thought you could use another,” he said, “You’ve got that look.”
“You’re not wrong,” Dean said. The man waited; Dean said nothing.
“So what is it?” he pressed. “Love? Money?”
“Those the usual culprits?” Dean asked. The bartender kept his smile, waiting. Dean looked down at his glass again and turned it slow in his hands. Pushing away from the counter, the old man grabbed a mostly dirty rag and started away, taking the hint and his leave.
“You let me know if you need another,” he said over his shoulder.
When the night falls, and my name's called, I always hope these calls, are sincerely yours. And when you catch my eyes, this lovely feeling glides, inside my heart. (small poem for you, you little sweet bean <3 I imagined Victor thinking this while waiting for Yuuri...I apologize if it's breakneck, but I wanted to cheer you up somehow) ;-;
When the night falls, and my name’s called, I always hope these calls, are sincerely yours. And when you catch my eyes, this lovely feeling glides, inside my heart.
-by the sweetest anon ever
did i format this right???
this is so lovely omg and so so sweet of you to do!!! CRIES I LOVE THIS. THANK YOU I AM VERY HAPPY AND AAAAAAA I HAVE NO WORDS!!
*busts out the “too moved and grateful for words” bucket*