• Smoke hung around a crowded bar on New Year’s Eve. People were singing, dancing, celebrating and all-around partying as the night wore on.

    Except for one person, who sat alone beneath a bright neon sign that was shaped like a Heineken bottle. No one could clearly see the face--only the left half was illuminated by the soft green light the sign gave off--but one could conclude that it was a young man who looked like he could steal John Rzeznik’s driver’s license and get away with it without much notice. His left eye was covered by messy caramel hair that appeared to be razor-cut, with gold highlights skillfully (but apparently randomly) placed to accent the dramatic shades of brown. He had a long, thin face and full, plump lips that transformed into a beautiful smile on the off-chance one appeared.

    Everybody knew him. He was a regular at Holley’s Pub in Cardiff, Wales. Seeing him around wasn’t a rare occurrence, nor was seeing him alone in his usual spot beneath the iridescent Heineken bottle. So, naturally, no one thought anything was particularly wrong.

    However, the bartender on duty knew his regular was more troubled than usual. The young man hadn’t even made an attempt to speak to a soul, unless he was ordering another drink.

    “Andy…” he murmured, voice soft and barely audible over the drunken singing of a favorite bar tune, Bar Room Hero.

    The bartender, Andy, turned. Andy was young, only the ripe age of twenty-three, and he certainly wasn’t hard to look at. His short, milk chocolate hair was parted down the center, strands occasionally hanging over his forehead. No strand ever looked misplaced. His face was rather long and square, with lips, nose, and eyes perfectly proportioned to fit the shape of his face and give him a beautiful, almost god-like appearance.

    “What is it, Keagan?” Andy asked, gazing at the man before him through large, brown eyes.

    Keagan, otherwise described as “that good-looking guy under the sign,” flicked the hair out of a bruised hazel eye. Upon closer inspection, Andy discovered bruises on Keagan’s neck--and if they were hickeys, which Andy highly doubted, then that boy needed to ease up just a little bit--and wrists, as well as his right cheek and forehead.

    “Dear God, Keagan,” Andy gasped, slipping a hand over his mouth. “You look terrible.”

    Keagan looked down and pulled his hair over his face, wincing as he did so. “Another one of those blue-and-white platters you’re so famous for.”

    Andy sighed, listening to the slur in Keagan’s whisper-like voice as he mixed a slew of drinks with the words “blue” or “white” in the names, like “White Russian,” “Blue Passion,” or “White Dirty Mother.”

    “And the Collins family, while you’re at it.”

    Keagan had become well-acquainted with all seven Collins family members that were served at Holley’s: Tom (Gin), John (Whiskey), Vodka, Amaretto, Joe (Scotch), Apple Jack, and Rum. One could say he’d been having a years-long affair with each of them.

    Andy placed the drinks in front of Keagan. He had significantly decreased the amount of liquor he’d put in each drink--he didn’t want to drape the man over the toilet or find him dead in an alleyway come morning.

    Keagan didn’t know the difference. At this point, he didn’t care how much alcohol was in something. As long as it was there, he didn’t complain.

    Andy sighed, drying his thin hands on a towel that he had slung over his shoulder. He looked over at Keagan often, making sure he was still alive and breathing. Every few minutes, he would place another order. However, as the orders began to differ to things that Holley’s didn’t even have on the menu, Andy wasn’t sure if his patron really knew what he was ordering, but he was in no position to refuse an order, so he mixed multiple Long Island Iced Teas and gave them to Keagan, who downed them happily.

    He stopped serving a little after midnight, when Keagan tried to place another order and burst into tears.

    “Keagan?” Andy asked, approaching the sobbing drunk.

    “I need out, Andy…” Keagan mumbled through tears and gasps for breath.

    Andy, confused as to what his friend was on about, looked at the man’s wrists again. Suddenly, he knew.

    “He abuses you, doesn’t he?” he asked, voice full of compassion and fear. He’d gotten to know Keagan rather well from their late-night drunken conversations, and knew all about Emmett--Keagan’s “fantastic” boyfriend that was the sun, moon, and stars to him--as well as Emmett’s anger problem. Andy was constantly worried that one day Emmett would snap and take everything out on Keagan, but he was reassured that Emmett was the nicest, most controlled person in the world.

    Keagan nodded as the tears streamed down his face like a river that had no end. Andy reached over and wiped his face as delicately as humanly possible.

    “Keagan… Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve helped before it got too bad.”

    “I was…a-afraid,” he stammered in response, wincing as Andy touched him.

    How could Emmett do this to Keagan, of all people? he silently asked himself. Keagan couldn’t hurt a mosquito, let alone another human. Andy suddenly realized why Keagan was victimized; the man refused to fight back.

    “Why does he do it, Andy?” Keagan asked. “He says he loves me. He says he feels bad when he hits me. So why? Why?”

    Andy bit his lip, not knowing how to respond. “I don’t know, Keagan,” he said simply. There was nothing else he could say.

    “Maybe it’s because I’m here all the time…” Keagan began to ramble, but Andy wasn’t entirely listening. His mind wandered, allowing a fear he’d never known before to cross his mind.

    Was he the reason Keagan was being abused?

    “Keagan,” Andy said as he stared at the man’s bruises. “I’m not the reason you’re being beat. Am I?”

    Keagan stared at Andy in silence for a long time, then shook his head slowly. “No, you aren’t. You aren’t. No.”

    Andy didn’t believe him at all, but said nothing and turned around to clean off part of the bar where a drunken man had spilt his drink.

    “What’s that dejected look for, Andy?” a patron slurred as Keagan shakily stood up.

    “Nothing, Pat,” he replied, sliding the bearded and bespectacled man a dry martini.

    xxxx

    Keagan stayed at Holley’s long after most had gone home. He was still there as Andy was locking up for the night. Andy looked at Keagan, who had seated himself on the bar.

    “Why are you still here?” Andy asked curiously. “Won’t Emmett get angry?”

    Keagan shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

    Andy turned, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

    “I’m in love with someone else, Andy.”

    “And?” Andy wasn’t sure where he fit into this.

    The elder man sighed. “Do I have to spell it out?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “I see the way you ogle me while you’re serving up drinks. I see the lustful look in those unguarded brown eyes of yours.” He smirked, watching a blush grown on Andy’s cheeks. “And I definitely see the way you wiggle those hips when you walk away and make that gorgeous, perfect a** bounce. So don’t play dumb…” By now, Keagan had hopped off the bar and stood only inches away from Andy’s face. “…because I know your dirty little secret now.”

    Andy bit his lip as Keagan drew closer and closer, almost daring him to make a move.

    Andy did just that. He gazed at Keagan for a moment before passionately pressing their lips together, grabbing Keagan’s messy hair. He threaded his fingers through the thin strands, feeling Keagan’s hands cup his a** gently.

    At this point, it seemed obvious what Keagan wanted. It was even more obvious when any and all space between the two bodies was closed. Andy wiggled his hips against Keagan’s slightly, earning a small moan from the other.

    Keagan broke away from Andy’s lips, kiss-swollen and red, and attached his lips to the younger’s throat, kissing and sucking on the bartender’s soft, luscious skin. Andy moaned softly, his hands trailing up the drunk man’s warm torso.

    Keagan pulled his lips from Andy’s neck, satisfied with the large hickey he’d left right on the younger man’s Adam’s Apple, then looked into his new-found love’s eyes. He ran a hand through his perfect, soft brown hair and smiled softly, those plump lips curving just like Andy always thought they would.

    Andy cupped his patron’s cheek and smiled back, brushing his fingers along Keagan’s flesh.

    “Keagan,” he finally said.

    “Yeah?”

    “I know you’re broken right now, and you’re in pain. But drowning yourself in alcohol isn’t worth it. I ju--”

    Keagan pressed a finger to Andy’s lips. “There’s no need to say it,” he mumbled, slur in his words. “I know what you’re going to say.”

    Andy didn’t understand, but nodded as Keagan gracefully changed the subject, leaving the unsaid unspoken though it ran through both their minds.

    The healing power of alcohol only works on scrapes and knicks…