You're out of your element for sure.
Your name is John Egbert, and today is your birthday. Twenty-first, to be exact. And, to celebrate this... occasion, your best friend Roxy Lalonde has enthusiastically bought you to his favorite gay bar. And, hell, you hadn't exited the house for anything but work in months, so who are you to decline? Especially after having to work on your birthday. You've honestly had a long day for sure.
But, as you're staring at Roxy enjoying himself from the barstools, you're not sure this was the route you were going for. He's already swathed with booze, bouncing around like a drunken idiot in the centre of the dance floor. Seems like he's happy at least? But you're not sure if you could agree with him. Thank God he's already got someone taking him home; because you're definitely not spending the night sober. Sure, you just turned legally of drinking age, but your sister was always an "I'd just prefer you keep it in the house" kinda gal when it came toward underage drinking, and ever since Dad left she's been the matriarch of the house (despite only being, like, four years your senior.) While your mind is trailing off, you are starting to get stressed, what with the loud buzzing of the music and the enthusiastic yelling from people. You feel so pressured and enclosed like you're... being shoved into a box aggressively, and it's getting hard to breathe.
Yeah, okay Egbert, it's time to get a drink.
... Is what you tell yourself before a man sits down next to you and notices you worried.
"Hey, you okay?" he asks you. He's got swaths of blonde hair swooped to the left of his head. His hair looks as soft as a cloud, like it's being held up in the wind, despite you both being inside. He's also wearing extremely idiotic pointy anime sunglasses on his head, the lights of the colourful bar counter reflecting onto the gloss of the lenses (if you can even call them that, considering they're like... one large glasses lens on frames).
"Yeah, I'm good," you tell him. You don't feel too panicky, just... sensory overload, you guess? You were fine just a couple minutes ago -- maybe you're just not having the whole club dynamic anymore, or maybe you're regretting your birthday. Things just... aren't really turning out how you wished they would.
"Want a drink, dude?" Shit. You're not too sure how to... take his offer. You don't want to seem pushy or anything. Does he think you're antisocial and have anxiety ordering? Well, you kind of do, but that's not the idea. You don't want this stranger to pay for your drink, but at this point, you're not sure if you can dig yourself out of this hole -- it'd cause way too much awkward fumbling discussion-wise between you two.
"Er, well... I wouldn't mind, but you really don't have to," you assure him, awkwardly chuckling a little. Great job, John. Tonight is just... going swell. You're probably just gonna get booze and call a cab home then pass out on your bed. You just... aren't feeling anything right now. You push up your glasses since they've been falling down your nose, but your nose is so sweaty, and they won't stay, and you --
You put the glasses on your head.
"Nah. It's on me, dude," the man chuckles. The bartender is busy on the other end of the bar, serving other customers, so you guess small talk is inevitable at the moment, but you're certainly not starting it. Thankfully enough, he clears his throat and proceeds to talk to you.
"Haven't seen you around here. Is this your first time?"
"Yeah. This is my twenty-first, actually," you tell him. "Birthday, that is." Shit. You just forget words sometimes. Oh well. It's not a big deal at this point. You're sure he doesn't mind -- he wouldn't be talking to you if he did.
"Oh hell. Well, happy birthday dude," he laughs a little. "Well into year twenty-five for me. Life is a ruse." Honestly, he isn't wrong, you think. His lips spread into a smile. Man, he's pretty charming, but maybe you just have a really clear type. He's short, and lanky, and looks uncannily familiar to your ex-boyfriend, but also has his own unique style somewhat? It's confusing, you think, but you're more distracted by his cute face and pretty boy physique.
"Interesting. You look a little younger than that," you tell him, only just realizing that probably came off pretty rude. "I meant it as a compliment, by the way. Sorry." You're nervous now. The problem with you socializing is you tend to make comments that you think are in good taste, but really, let's admit it -- they're not. In fact, you more often offend -- or at the very least put people off -- by what you say.
"Why are you apologizing? Thank you for the compliment," he flutters his eyelashes. Oh, alright. So he took that one well. Great. Cool. You feel a wave of nerves wash out from underfoot, like ocean breaking gently onto your ankles.
Soon, the bartender returns to the side of the bar you two are at. "Sorry for the wait," he apologizes, taking the order from your new... friend? It feels just a little early to be calling him that, but you guess he's gonna be with you the rest of the night, so.
"Two Tequila Sunrises, please," he tells the bartender. Once he nods away and starts preparing your drinks, he speaks up, "Oops. Forgot to ask if you have a drink preference... well, uh, it's got a low alcohol content. So it should be good for you," he chuckles, you nodding back at him. Does he think you've never drank booze before? Oh. Well, you only turned 21 today, so that is a reasonable assumption. You'll go with it, you think.
"By the way, my name's Dirk. Sorry, never introduced myself," he tells you, laughing at himself a little as he places his hand onto his chin. He's got a goofy grin on, though it's somehow also charming, all at once. "What's the name of a cutie like you?"
Oh wow. Alright, Dirk here is flirty! You can roll with this? You're certainly not used to it, but... you know. You'll hope you can come off as equally attractive? Maybe he's got a type. Wait, you just met this dude, oh god. You should probably drink something before having thoughts of romancing a stranger. Not only because it's admittedly been years since you've done such a thing -- so you're overtly rusty -- but because you were counting on falling asleep in your own bed not even five minutes prior to now.
"My name's John," you tell him, thanking the bartender and grabbing your drink once it's placed in front of you. You take a sip, the sharp twang of tequila mixed with the sour zest of orange juice. It's jarring at first, but a couple sips later, you're used to it. You pick the cherry out of the drink, plopping it into your mouth, spitting the stem into a napkin. Dirk's probably noticed your tongue piercing by now, more given the fact he's not responded to you in about ten or fifteen seconds. Wow, okay, you're hyper-analyzing again, stop that--
"Well, John, you look like you're enjoying yourself," he jokes. "Your birthday turning out any better than you thought it would?"
"Yeah, you could say that," you affirm to him, a toothy grin forming on your face. The fruity/sugariness of the cocktail is driving to your head, and you're honestly pretty lightweight, so even the 13% or whatever of alcohol in this thing will probably get you at the very least a little woozy. Not enough to be smashed (like a certain Lalonde forming a conga line on the dance floor as you speak), but enough to probably be able to play along with a certain pretty boy next to you.
Speaking of Roxy, while you're twiddling your thumbs and borderline staring at Dirk waiting for the alcohol to kick in, the drunk blonde friend who bought you here creeps up. He's toting two Martini glasses -- one for each hand -- and is wobbling as he stands. He's got at least five strange plastic rainbow flower leis on his neck, and his glasses are shittily positioned on his collar. You reach out your hand and grab his forearm to stabilize him, just in case he, like, topples over or anything? He's always been a lightweight, but you're not sure you've seen him this drunk anywhere besides your sister's house.
"What is UP, friends?" he announces, staring off into space, but repositioning his eyes to look at you. Then Dirk. Then you.
"Oh. Hey Rox!" Dirk says, waving off to him. Wait, they know each other? This is completely new news to you, personally. Roxy places a half-full martini on the counter, placing a hand onto his scruffy platinum blonde hair, brushing it out slightly, the permed locks forming back into curls immediately. "Hey, Dirkie! I see you've found my friend John," he slurs out, followed by a little hiccup.
"You could say that," you tell him with a grin. He's kinda cute like this, but also a little worrying. Eventually, you should probably get him to sit down until Jane is here to pick him up, but it's gonna be at least two hours until then. Man, he's only been here for an hour and he's already crunked beyond belief. It's barely ten at night. But, you push that out of your head -- you're gonna be advantageous and take his drunken-ness to your benefit. "How do you two know each other?" you ask him and Dirk.
"Yep," Dirk says, putting his hand onto Roxy's mouth slightly, to avoid him saying anything embarrassing. Well, that plan went well. "He's a friend of mine. We see each other 'round here pretty often. Likes to get stuck in my hair," he chuckles. "Ouch, what the fuck!" Dirk says, shaking off his hand. Did Roxy just fucking lick his hand? What the hell are you getting yourself into? You take another sip out of your cocktail.
"We've had a couple of flings with each other, but pretty quickly we realized that anything official or romantic wasn't for us," Dirk continues, Roxy nodding off, if a little wobbly.
"Well, a friend of Roxy's is a friend of mine," you nod to Dirk, giving him a fist bump. Wow, you totally are a frat boy, huh? "Damn straight, brotha'!" Roxy slurs out with a hiccup. "Bleh. Why the hell do I even drink this shit?" he muses, sipping from his martini. You take his hand gently, him turning toward you. "We're only an hour into the night. Why don't you like... sit over there and not get blackout drunk?" You motion to the lounges, your phrasing masked as a request, though both you and Roxy know it's much more a command. He obliges, and you lead him over, Dirk staying in his seat, drinking from his glass more heavily now. Yeah, you feel it. You finish off by grabbing Roxy a water bottle, and he gorges over it, waterfalling the contents down his throat. He's manspreading across a lounge chair now, flopping himself back into the pillow behind him. Yeah, he's good. He'll stay put for the rest of the night.
You sigh, dropping yourself back into the barstool and grabbing your phone. You quickly advise Jane that she might wanna grab Roxy soon, but not quick enough to avoid Dirk noticing the fact you still use a flip phone from 2005.
"Aw, that's cute," he tells you in a babying voice. Wow, this asshole!
"Look, I just don't want to buy a new phone," you justify to him, putting the pink disaster away into your pocket. It's old, sure, but it works, and because of that, you don't want to replace it. You even have little phone charms on it! It is cute. But you don't want Dirk saying that. Because you know he's making fun of you for it.
"Dude, it's a compliment," he tells you. Okay, yeah, maybe you're reading too much into things? Hypocrite much. You laugh a little, chugging down some more of the fruity poison in your glass. The alcohol is starting to hit you a little, given you're feeling more adventurous and less anxious than before all of a sudden. You certainly aren't complaining, though -- you sure don't have an issue with it, that is. It feels like a load has been taken off your shoulders, and you instead just see Dirk as another stranger at the bar, not like some intensely cooler dude that's so above your level. (Even if he is.)
"So, what brings you... here, tonight?" you ask him, twirling your fingers on the surface of the bar counter. It's got droplets of residue on it, the cool ice and water evaporating from your glass fogging up and dampening the likewise glass surface of the counter. It's got lights installed on the body, a rainbow gleam fading up into the see-through bar surface, and reflecting in the mirror. Nonetheless, it's mesmerizing right now, so you try to focus on it. (Colours are nice, you think to yourself in silence.)
"Been a long day at work. Annoying customers, equally tedious projects, you know," he says with a chuckle, and boy do you know. You might just be a barista, but you are damn tired of idiots ordering drinks incorrectly, kids trying to get drinks they can't even pronounce the name of. More people have begun ordering from their phones, which makes it eternally easier, but it's not widespread enough to your liking. You just despise working retail. "Figured it wouldn't hurt to grab a drink or two, talk to a couple of cute guys. Maybe get laid. Sounds like a good reward for the end of the week," he continues. You grin a little at him. He sounds non-committal -- in a good way -- laid back to the extreme, a kind of go-with-the-flow kind of person. And if he isn't already, well, he definitely wants to be -- either way, it's a kind of personality you definitely can get behind. Better than being a nervous wreck like someone you know. (Hint; it's you. You're that someone.) You tap your painted black nails onto the glass counter as he talks, not paying attention to him fully, at least not until you noticed he finished talking over ten seconds ago. He's staring at you now. You should probably say something to him.
"I know how you feel about the work thing. I work at the Starbucks down the road," you tell him, hoping you can find the common ground on working retail, even if his job is a lot more intense. You think, at least. You still don't know what he works, but if you were to guess, it's something you wouldn't be able to, given his attitude about it. "For the most part, I'm just here because Roxy dragged me here, but I'm... not that opposed to getting taken home by someone," Wow, that wasn't smooth, John. You're probably shoving yourself into things, but by the way, you can see his pupils dilate, he probably enjoyed that comment. And, at least, you mean it genuinely, you think. In the literal sense, it's been a while since you've fucked around with someone -- you're not sure you wouldn't mind Dirk specifically -- it's probably more that you just wouldn't mind the thought of a fling tonight. Birthday present? Probably. That's how you see it, at the very least. You wouldn't say no to Dirk, though, and if you're both down for that kind of thing -- well, maybe he's the best option. Considering you two aren't strangers anymore especially. It's Friday night, it's your birthday, you're sad, you're drinking. You're lonely. What else are you supposed to do?
"What's your profession, anyway?" you ask him, realizing you should at the very least know that before you talk more about getting him in the sheets. He nods to you, gulping toughly, forming a response in his head. (You can almost hear the cogs turning.)
"It's difficult to explain," he tells you. "Basically, a mechanic. I make projects that customers commission, and also repair shit that they bring e in bad condition. Partially coding, partially physical stuff... sometimes I even get my hands on repairing cars, even. It's a lot, but it's mostly just boring," he laughs. Sounds like an interesting job, you think -- though he definitely looked like someone who worked a tech job. He's got that vibe, you think. "Anyways, mad respect, dude. I could never work in traditional retail. It takes way too much patience. Patience I don't have," he comments, a full smile parting his face.
"I don't think it's boring, just not surprising," you genuinely tell him. "We should probably move to a lounge seat though. I feel like I'm about to collapse off the edge of this stool." You stumble as you stand up, him immediately grabbing onto your arm as to make sure you won't fall. You won't, though you're glad he cares enough. He's got your glass in hand -- his is already empty. Once you guys flop into a seat into the corner -- still visible, but clad in club darkness and washed out by the people talking with each other and dancing all around you two. There's a table in front of you, so you grab your glass off him and set it there.
"Anyways, about my job personally," you tell him; if a little belated, "It's really not that easy, you're right. I used to have dyed hair and many more piercings, but I had to 'fix' the former and remove most of the latter every day. They allow colorful hair now, but they didn't when I was seventeen." You're a little miffed, and you hope that doesn't come off in your speaking, mostly because it'd be stupid for you to be so upset about a thing so menial. Like hair. "It's in the past anyway."
"Man, the remnants of my punk phase still haunt me," he tells you, gesturing across all of his own facial piercings. He's got snake bites and a septum piercing, as well as an eyebrow piercing on the left. They're gold, though you're not sure if it's real, mostly because gold facial piercings are overpriced as hell. They're probably plated.
"I'm surprised that you guessed I was a tech dude," he says, chuckling at you a little. "Most people think I'm, like, a pornstar or something. It's flattering for sure, but just because I'm blonde, doesn't make me a bimbo." He's got a point. You laugh more openly, definitely revealing off your tongue piercing to him -- the flesh housing a neon green barbell that glows in the blacklight. You take another sip of your drink, thinking off to yourself. "You're a funny guy," you tell him. "If you hadn't told me otherwise, I'd certainly believe you if you said you were like... a camboy or something. And that's a compliment," you laugh, the drunken-ness hitting you like a rock, a hiccup fighting past your throat. It almost hurts to giggle, but you don't notice it too much -- just been a fun night, you guess? Which is better than the alternative, which would be you isolating yourself in your room like you do every year.
"Can't say I haven't thought about it. If we're being honest," he adjusts himself, leaning more into your space, though you welcome it. His thigh is up against yours now, and he's leaning on the table, about to continue his sentence. "I did try it out once. The compliments were flattering for sure, but it's not fulfilling. Super facetious," he tells you, and you'll have to agree with him. You yourself have never done anything that extreme, but you know people who have, and either they really enjoy it, or it's just not their thing. You don't think it'd be your thing if that says anything. The compliments that come from people do seem pretty dry -- they don't know the person they're watching personally, so how can it be taken seriously? "If I had to be a sex worker, I'd much rather be a shitty pornstar. It's still all so fake, but, at least someone would be there touching me, you know?"
You nod to him softly. He's got more to say, though, so you hesitate on opening your mouth. "I do contribute to the industry my own way. I make these strange sex puppets called Smuppets. It's a sewing project for me, and hey, I get paid cash for it, so I can't complain," he chuckles. "It's also fucking hilarious." He looks back at you with genuinely gentle eyes, the curves of his cheeks bumping up his eye bags a little. He looks like he's about to cry, but then again, so do you. You think both of you are hopelessly lonely, but you're also hopelessly drunk, so you're probably gonna just be a fountain of strange sentences for a while.
"I bet your strange sex toys are adorable," you compliment him, letting out a loose chuckle and swigging the last of your glass down. You almost slam it onto the table before remembering you aren't doing shots, so you rest it gently onto the wooden surface. Dirk puts his shades back on, which is disappointing -- you got oddly used to being able to read his emotions. Either way, you're going to try and lighten the mood, as things got a little too deep for you with that last conversation. "You know, Dirk, I was gonna say something," you hiccup, "But I'd be surprised if I knew what it was. My mind feels like slop right now." you remark drunkenly. God, you're desperate. You definitely could shut yourself up if you wanted to, but that's the thing. You don't want to. You met Dirk not even two hours prior, and you already feel like seeing his face light up with every little drunken sentence you blurt out is a game.
And you'd be damned if you didn't win it.
"You're an adorable drunk," he compliments you, placing a hand to your cheek. You soften up at that, giggling a little as he smiles up at you. Wow, you're taller than him? You didn't pick up on that before. Well, you have now, and you're certainly not complaining. It's not by much -- if you had to guess, maybe four or five inches -- but he's also in platforms, so that's probably off. "Sometime, you could get me to do shots for you. I want to be at least partially coherent tonight, but I get real drunk sometimes, let me tell you," he says, laughing at you a little. You only just now pick up that he's inviting to hang out with you a time, like, after tonight, which certainly doesn't sound bad. You two blend well, you think, placing a hand onto his knee. Good chemistry, maybe. You wouldn't mind calling him a friend, and really, only Roxy truly has that title at the moment.
Your face is fully flushed by now. "Thank you," you tell him for the prior compliment, before telling him you're not opposed to doing shots with him in some strange bar in the middle of the night. Not now, but, someday. It's not an idea that you force out of your head by any means, mostly because the idea of having a friend that you can find common ground with so easily is certainly quite appealing, you think. "Hanging out with you another time sounds cool. We maybe just met, and dude, my brain's on planet fucking Venus, but I can confirm you're super entertaining. In a good way, I promise." You're buttering him up, but you definitely mean it wholeheartedly, if only partially. He's leaning into you now, his shoulder to yours, your legs intertwined at the ankle.
"You seem very charming. Adorkable, and -- emphasis on that dork, please," he jokes. He's scrambling to put his glasses back onto his forehead, which you think is adorable in it's way, the fact he's wanting to show his emotions so... bare to you. You couldn't say you mind a single bit -- being able to see his eyes again gives another layer of intimacy, you think, the hopeless romantic in you giggling excitedly. Dirk's got this... this atmosphere to him, something you can pick up on even when you're drunk. Reminds you of your ex, though he's certainly a lot less quiet, and Dirk seems to be a lot more open with his emotions. Which isn't a bad thing at all -- but you're gonna stop the train of thought there, considering you're not sure you like comparing a man you're probably going to end up becoming friends with (at the very least) to your ex. Seems like a bad omen, somewhat.
"Can't help that I'm too nerdy for most other people around these parts," you tell him, staring down at his face. You realize just how cute he is without his glasses, and your heart does this... somersault inside of you. He's so damn charismatic, and maybe the booze is getting to you for sure, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't all in with him already. The urge to spend at least the night with Dirk is excruciating, but part of you hopes it's not like, just a one-night expenditure. Are you... crushing? What are you, a middle school anime girl? (Considering your phone of choice, that wouldn't be a remark that's too far off, really.)
"They're just missing out on you," Dirk murmurs to you, now staring into your eyes. It's cute, actually, so you're not complaining or anything. He's analyzing your face very closely, and at this angle, you're almost able to do the same to him. He's got soft blonde peach fuzz on his jawline, which is more rounded than yours, but it's not too feminine or anything. He's got a Roman nose, you think -- not too big, but not tiny, and not crooked like yours. (Even then, you weren't born with a big nose. You've broken it too many times out of clumsiness.) He's got little blemishes and freckles dotting every part of his skin, and you kinda just... wanna kiss every single one of them? His hair is airy and fluffy like cotton candy, and you can tell at this angle that he's wearing lip gloss, as his lips are very... well, glossy. (Who's the middle schooler anime girl now?) They've got a little sparkle to them.
After about a minute of mutual staring, you hear Dirk clear his throat, about to blurt something out.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks, and you can almost feel regret seep off him, but you immediately try to stop yourself from combusting so you can respond before he takes the question back.
"I certainly wouldn't mind."
And at that, your lips are gently crashing with his, a gently soft expression of desire, a want for more to come. You're dazed with this cosmic urge, despite that being an overstatement. Wow, alright, geez, you're definitely gonna end up either housing this dude for the night or crashing at his place, (wherever that may be?) won't you? (You don't mind, as much as you think you do.) While the two of you are still against each other, he cups your face, determined for him to hold you there as long as he can. The kiss isn't even raunchy -- you're barely toeing the line of making out -- but you're already drunk on the feeling. (or maybe that's the tequila?) Dirk feels like a jolt to your wires, a short circuit buzzing your insides, and you love every minute of it. It feels like floodgates have been opened, freeing you to a world of desire, and right now, you just want Dirk closer. As if he could read your mind, he coaxes you in, stroking your jaw gently. He pulls away for only a moment but shifts himself into your lap, and he'd probably be straddling you at this point; if the state of the seating gave for that. Unfortunately, you have to settle for this awkward positioning, but you're not complaining -- you're just glad you feel leagues less lonely, right now.
"Want to show me how you use that tongue piercing of yours?" He comments, a sultry whisper against your lips. You murmur a 'yes' back to him, but before you can even finish getting that out, the two of you are back against each other again, saliva merging into one another. Both of you taste like fruity booze, lingering spiked orange juice flavors creeping on both of you. He also tastes minty, so you can tell he was just prepped for some choice makeout sessions tonight. Your tongue barbell curves around in his mouth, which certainly garners some auditory reply from him. You love hearing his little groans, despite quiet and not of full intensity. You wonder if he's ever met a guy with a tongue piercing -- you'd love to show him some of the other things it does-- oh my god, John Egbert, you filthy motherfucker.
He takes a fistful of your hair and gently tugs, receiving a hearty moan from you that he eats up entirely. He moves your head enough to where he can eat up the roof of your mouth hungrily, wanting for more, and oh boy do you love it. He happily traces your front teeth with his tongue, noticing overbite -- you hope he enjoys it. With the heady taste of alcohol and citrus on both your heads and mouths, he rolls himself into your hips, dragging a hearty groan out of you that he laps up enthusiastically. You'd let this guy ride you into oblivion, but those... are not thoughts you'd like to be having at a bar in public! (He's got you screwed, but you're happy about it for sure.)
If anything, though, you feel like he's just... testing you. Either he wants you to pop a boner in public, or he's testing your resistance entirely. He's still rolling on top of you, which still makes you moan airily. (Thank god you're wearing sweatpants, you guess?) You're honestly just enamored with the newfound drug that is Dirk fucking Strider, you think.
You pull apart to breathe, heavily upon each other, and you can't help but let out a little chuckle. He's just... beautiful, you think, and you'd absolutely adore seeing him vulnerable for you. You could even just, like... sit right here and let the world wash away with him, but damn do you kinda just want him in your bed right about now. But this is good right now, you know, sitting right here, he's grinding up against you, and oh shit, your phone is buzzing, shit shit shit-
"You should probably take that," Dirk says, moving himself away from you slightly as you take your flip-phone out of your pocket. You absolutely despise the world for separating you two like this, but it's a good snap back into things -- you two are at a bar, so going very far would be stupid, as much as you want it. "If the call isn't important, and you want it, you know, we can just get out of here afterward." You nod to him, and he agrees to go check on Roxy before you two leave.
gutsyGumshoe at 22:55
John. Are you there?
John?
gutsyGumshoe at 23:01
I’m gonna call you now, since clearly, your own sister is less important than whatever gay bar antics you’re sneezed on.
gutsyGumshoe is calling ectoBiologist at 23:03
Shit. It's Jane. Hopefully, she can still pick up Roxy.
JOHN: hey jane!
JANE: Just wanted to call and make sure I'm still grabbing Roxy from you.
JANE: I'm making bread, so I can't talk for long right now.
JOHN: haha, oh. yeah. cool. you're still grabbing him.
JANE: Are you drunk, John?
There's a pause.
JANE: I'll be there in thirty minutes.
JANE: Have fun tonight.
She hangs up on you. You're somewhat embarrassed, although, she'd probably do the same if she was in your position! (No she wouldn't. She's very respectable and well-mannered and not impulsive at all.) After you have your moment of nerves, you look over to Dirk and Roxy. Roxy looks very humored, and Dirk looks embarrassed. You can only imagine what they're talking about.
After they talk for a couple of minutes, you see Roxy enthusiastically wave goodbye to Dirk as he walks back over to you, sliding a glass of water onto your table for you to drink. You happily oblige, getting some cool water down your throat to wash away the (frankly gross) alcohol aftertaste. Dirk pops himself down to you, virtually up close to you, getting a large drink of his own water glass.
"Sorry for jumping you tonight, basically. I am usually not this... impulsive," he tells you, but you immediately correct him. "No, no, no. It's not like I mind, honestly. It's refreshing," you tell him, crunching down on a chunk of ice. "Usually, I'm not so impulsive either," you tell him, opening up your phone again to check your calendar, just because at this point the weekend is probably sold away to Dirk. Jane likes to invite you to random Crockercorp events without ever telling you, so you've gotta just confirm that your weekend is free. There's a dinner party on Sunday evening, but you're sure Dirk'll be gone by then -- even if not, she's allowed you to bring a plus-one, which feels more like a jab at you than a legitimate invitation. (Mostly because everyone in your family is convinced you can't hold onto any dates.) That's fine, then. You clasp your phone closed, a little pixelated tritone playing as you do, and you shove it into your pocket.
"I can call over a taxi if you wish, by the way," Dirk says, grabbing his own (much more modern) phone. "Yeah, that sounds great," you affirm to him, groaning out of shoulder pain. That angle you were sitting at just a couple minutes ago really was not comfortable, wow. He pulls up Uber or something on his phone, making you envy the technology he's got, even if you're outdated by choice. He's sitting on your lap still, this time the right way, and it's the perfect angle to place your chin onto his shoulder.
He makes sure you're okay with him coming over, and you enthusiastically confirm that yes, you are, more than okay with it. Certainly a little nervous for when he's gonna see your room, which is clad unceremoniously in Sanrio and other weeb-ish decorations. Nothing is wrong with a guy who has cute interests. Doesn't make you any less manly, that's for sure.
You nod at him as he exits your lap and offers you a hand to lift you upward, and the two of you lock hands and exit the bar. You're stumbling a little at this point, but, you certainly don't mind. It's a humid night, fog swirling about the sky, you two seated on a bench outside. You remove the blue jacket you were wearing and hand it to him, revealing a bright Hawaiian shirt you were sporting underneath. It's sleeveless, showing your arms. You're not buff or a bodybuilder by any means, but you've got a little body here and there, though you're more chubby than anything. at this point, you just embrace your dad bod.
Your mind is drifting off as Dirk leans against you, and you think to yourself, this is a good night. So far. There's obviously more to come, but the cool air makes you forget about all that.
You like to think you finally had a happy birthday.