Bruce's Pov
I stepped out of the taxi after paying the driver, not even making sure the rain had stopped first. I paused for a moment, just standing by the curb, hands shoved into my jacket pockets.
The streets were wet, painted in the soft glow of the night. Neon signs bled pinks and blues into the puddles, rippling whenever someone walked past.
My hair was still damp from the drizzle earlier, and I could feel the cold night air slipping down the back of my neck.
The street hummed, coming from the low conversations of people who stood nearby, from open bar doors where muffled music thudded and from cars driving by.
It sounded like a giant heartbeat, steady and slow, gently pulling me closer.
I don't drink alone, not when something was bothering me, at least. I told myself that often, like it's some unbreakable rule. But right now, rules felt stupid after the rough day I just had.
My thoughts kept clawing at the back of my neck like some haunted sensations, and I needed to drown myself in something that burned while slipping down my throat.
The closest bar to me had this worn down sign that buzzed faintly in the night. I didn't mind the look, I just pushed the door open and was welcomed by warmth and loud booming noise from the speakers.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of spilled beer and sweat. Regardless of the booming sound, I could still hear a few conversation, breaking apart with sudden bursts of laughter or the sharp clink of glasses.
I moved through the bar quietly, hoping to make my way to the counter or a quiet spot deep inside, but bumped shoulders with a guy who didn't even bother looking back.
He just groaned and shrugged his shoulders, his focus still on the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
I didn't mind too, I just slipped onto a stool at the counter, hunched forward ready to order. "Can I get your strongest?"
They served and I poured it down my throat, feeling the burn rising in its wake. It wasn't pleasant, not really, but it surely distracted me from the mess in my head.
People moved around me like blurs of color and motion, their smiles not forced or fake, eyes watching without really seeing. It was a bar, and people were here to let loose.
I swept my gaze through the crowd, not really expecting anything, but I noticed someone staring directly at me.
He was sitting at the far end of the bar, leaning casually against the counter like he belonged there.
He seemed to be in his early thirties, his hair was short and neatly styled, his clothes, they seemed to be kind of average. Like he purposely didn't put effort into his clothing before stepping out.
I wanted to look away, but my eyes caught the faint smirk playing on his lips. I felt a bit weird, but then he raised his glass in a slow, deliberate toast, like we were sharing some private moment in the middle of all this noise.
I had no idea why I didn't immediately turn back to my drink. Honestly, I just didn't care if he stared or not. I already knew I wasn't here for him.
I turned and down another one of my glass, the burn shifting my mind back to the alcohol. I didn't immediately swallow everything, I rolled some of it under my tongue for a bit.
"You don't seem to be a fan of soccer," a voice cracked behind me and I almost put up my guard. It was the man from earlier, the one who was staring at me from across the bar.
He was so close now, and it bothered me. He gestured to the small TV at the top of the counter shelf where a game was being played.
"Not really." I replied, deciding to keep my response as short as possible.
"That's too bad," he said and sat on the next stool from mine. "I placed a bet on the underdogs, 10 to 1. I bet a lot on it so I do hope they win."
I didn't understand why he was trying to start a conversation with me. I just wanted to be left alone, face my problems like I had planned to. But I also didn't want to be rude either, so I did.
"Are the eagles the underdogs?" I asked.
"Not really," he took a swig from his bottle. "They broke off from them but... let's say they're their own team now." He answered.
"And are they that good for you to bet a lot on them?" I asked again, getting more invested in the conversation.
"They played well the last two games so I really see them winning today."
"That's quite the risk you're taking," I scoffed, downing another shot. "Hope it plays out the way you want"
I didn't finish my response when the bar erupted in a loud roar. The underdogs scored to my surprise, but what surprised me more than that, was how the man next to me wrapped his hand around me in a hug.
I wanted to pull off, push him away even though he did so without my permission, but I didn't say a thing, I just thought it was reflex, seeing how happy he was.
The match soon came to an end but he didn't stop talking, about how big he hit on the last game he staked on and another he had won so much it was like a lottery.
I paid him no mind but he kept pestering and offered to buy my next drink which I declined. He insisted and after much persuasion I accepted.
Minutes stretched by and I told myself it was harmless. Just another stranger trying to be friendly.
I managed to convince myself that he was harmless and we kept on talking about different things like how stressful his job was and how he hated his boss.
I was starting to enjoy his company, talking and laughing together like we were old friends. Then he made a statement that made me pause.
"Let's leave this bar and head out to somewhere much better. You'll like it, I promise."