Chapter Text
Humans.
Something that never changes. An indomitable spirit and an affinity for them, too. Doesn't matter the season, the day, or the hour - humans are drawn into communal spaces to break bread and chase liquor and wine with shared stories and hearty laughs. After the rumbling, the bar was one of the first things to be rebuilt in Paradis. Seems old habits never truly die.
Tonight, like seemingly every other night, the bar is packed shoulder to shoulder. The center of the capital is mostly filled with government officials and military men and women alike who all gladly accept whatever chance they can get to take the edge off with a bit of comradery and a bit too much alcohol. The night drags on like normal, kicking those who are stumbling drunk out of the bar, breaking up fights, shouting over the sound of music and dozens of conversations so loud you can barely hear your own voice, denying the umpteenth request to make a drink extra strong just for them. As if you hadn't heard that one before.
Time and faces often blend together in this place but over the few years you have been working here there are a number of them that manage to stick out. Frequent fliers of the bar front and not the booths and tables scattered throughout the room. Loud mouths and louder personalities, most of them begrudging members of the military - a few being former members of the survey corp. Or, rather, the few that remained. Hardened by whatever hell lay beyond the ocean you had heard so much about.
"Boots! Off the bar!" You shout, annoyed, pushing a pair of heavy legs off the countertop only to have them return just moments later. You shake your head at the man that owns them. Broad. Brutish. Blonde. Familiar. Giving you a look that screams or what? Rolling your eyes, you shove them off a second time but, again, they return. You cross your arms, resting your elbows against the bar and leaning in, not quite sure who he was trying to intimidate. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. "Buddy, enough of the attitude. I'm cutting you off."
"Relax, damn." He barks, finally lowering his legs back down the spindle of his chair. He leans away from you, his arms splaying across the backs of the chairs flanking him, one empty and the other seating one of the two men he entered the bar with hours earlier and several heavy pours ago. Not intoxicated, per se, but bold enough to assume you'd back down from a challenge. A bet you'd know he'd wager, and a bet he's sure to lose.
"I am relaxed and you're still cut off. Get out." You smile, antagonizing him as you point your thumb towards the door. He remains seated for a moment, his nostrils flare and your affect remains flat, your eyes deadpanned. He groans, letting his head fall back. Standing up suddenly and nearly knocking his seat back, he rifles through his pockets before firmly pressing a fistful of money against the chest of the man who sat next to him who looked more confused than anything, seeming to not entirely understand what had happened.
“Settle up, I’m grabbing a smoke.” Mumbling, his hands return to his pockets to fish out his cigarettes and a lighter. The door opens forcefully, slapping into the outer brick wall of the building and closes with a loud thud that managed to be heard over the deafening volume of conversations around you. The men around here are so dramatic, it's a wonder you like them at all. Though, you think, some of them are nice to look at, even if they're not so nice to talk to. Former company included.
“Is he always like that?” You ask, rotating a dry cloth around a freshly-washed glass, inspecting it in the light.
“Well, Reiner’s just-“ The gray-haired man with the wad of money counts through the folded bills carefully before being interrupted by the tall, long-haired man next to him.
“Just an asshole.” He laughs, downing another long, final glug from his bottle of beer and passing it to your outstretched hand. You hold up another full one, swinging it slightly between two fingers to offer to him but he raises a hand to decline.
“Chill out, Jean. He's.. grumpy.” He seems oddly defensive of the big guy. You assume they're old friends, and why wouldn't they all be. Bonded through trauma.
“Right...” Your voice trails off as roll your eyes again, wringing soapy water from a wet rag onto the countertop to rid it of whatever the hell was caked on Reiner's boots. Your countertop is scuffed from his heel and you let out a measured sigh in an effort to release the tension that boiled just under your skin. Who does that presumptuous asshole think he is?
“Seems we've got to go keep him in check. Connie, let's head out." Jean stands, his smile wide as he passes you a few bills and waves a quick goodbye, not bothering to wait for Connie behind him. You wave in return, though he's nearly out the door by time you do.
“Keep the change for the.. attitude.” He hands you the entire stack plus a few from his own pocket before offering a thumbs up and a grin, bounding out the door after Jean.
“Thanks guys, see you soon.” You shout, but they're well beyond the slowly-closing door and into the lamp-lit night.
The night life in the bar winds down, patrons filing out one after another until the room is finally completely empty and you have a long-overdue chance to exist peacefully and in silence for an hour or so before you head home. You move slowly around the room, pushing in chairs, wiping down counters, sweeping a mop across the floor to collect sticky residue of spilled drinks and crumbs of food. The bell at the door chimes, a sound you only hear at the very beginning and end of the day as the ringing tends to get drowned out the fuller the bar gets.
“Hey, we're just about to-" You begin but cut yourself off mid-thought as you glance back. It's the blonde asshole from earlier standing in the doorway. His face blank as his eyes scans the room, passing over you before he nods and takes a few slow, weighted paces towards you. “Ah, you. Buddy, I-“
“I’m back to apologize.” He offers and you pause, your head tilting slightly in surprise. He seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, either embarrassed at his own behavior or embarrassed that he even came back to apologize in the first place. “I was told I should make amends before I get permanently banned from this place, so I’m sorry for earlier.”
“Good news and bad news.” You smile, resting your elbow over the top of the mop handle, the heel of your hand pressed to your cheek. He nods, a silent request to continue your gloating, “Good news is I had no intentions of banning you. We make too much of a profit from your drinking habits to consider it. Plus, I've dealt with way worse than guys like you.”
“Bad news?”
You point to the sign just behind the bar top, his eyes following your direction without protest. No Refunds.
“Seems I’ll be keeping that apology as compensation.”
“All yours.” He smirks, letting out a chuckle that rumbled from his chest and you're almost sure that's the first time you've ever seen him wear such an expression. It looked uncomfortable to him as well, as if it were an old habit he thought he had gotten rid of some time ago.
“Listen,” You start, letting the mop lean against one of the chairs behind you before returning to the bar, hopping up slightly and onto one of the chairs in front of it. “I’m not going to pretend like what happened earlier was fine, but you look like someone who needs to talk and I look like someone who's ready to listen. People usually put up a front like yours because they have to, not because they want to.”
He doesn't say anything. Hesitating, his jaw slightly slack and his shoulders round. His expression softens before his eyes move from you to the floor. Whatever confidence and bravado he brought into the bar is certainly not what he would be leaving with.
“Deal?” You fill the silence and extend a hand, offering him what you truly believe is something he needs. Continued patronage of your bar and a listening ear. “Shake on it.”
“Deal.” He nods, his voice quieter this time. Its normal edge is much duller now. His hand clasps yours, almost engulfing it.
“I’m almost done here, so I’ll have to kick you out. Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time tomorrow.” He nods, turning on his heels and mirroring your words back to you as he steps out the door again, his figure swallowed whole by the shadow of night.
You finish up your typical responsibilities for closing up and readying yourself for your walk home, but your mind keeps trailing back to replay that conversation. Why he hesitated. Though, you think, it doesn't really matter and you're almost positive he'll forget your offer and your dynamic will continue as usual - him being mouthy and brash and rude, and you kicking him out when he gets too rowdy. But he never apologized before. He never apologized for his behavior or his boots on your bar or his loud mouth. He'd just come in and act like everything is normal and you'd act much the same. Cyclical.
The room goes dark and the door makes a loud, ringing click as you lock it behind you. The light from the street lamps are hazy, the humidity of late spring hanging in the air, but it's still enough to guide you back home. You bring the cigarette you had tucked behind your ear moments earlier to your lips and let out a frustrated sigh as your lighter takes a concerning number of flicks before igniting. Smoke billows out of your mouth and around you as your pace hastens. You're hungry, you're tired, and the humidity is so heavy it frizzes your hair and makes your skin feel clammy. Gross.
Lights from surrounding buildings periodically going dark as you approach your apartment, it's well past midnight and the moon hangs high in the sky. You stare up at it for a moment, the light from it illuminating most of the town in an eerie glow nearly totally devoid of color. The last drag from your cigarette fills your lungs before you drop the butt, twisting it beneath your shoe before you fish through your pockets for your other set of keys. Door opens. Door closes. Your back presses against it as you slide down it slightly, feeling more exhausted than usual.
"I'm home," You call out, and you hear the familiar tip-tapping of tiny paws running through your living room, your kitchen, and into the hallway where you waited. She meows happily, her tail positioned high as she runs up to you, flopping on the floor in front of you to expose her belly - ready for her late night pets. "Hi baby, how was your day today?"
She meows again while you pick her up into her arms and she slinks over your shoulder like a scarf. Her tail periodically flicking you in the face while you warm your leftovers over the open flame of your stove, hopping down only as you sit on your couch to scarf it down. She watches carefully, pensively, waiting until you've taken your last bite before she hops onto the cushion next to you and meows loudly.
"Alright, alright. So where to start.." You begin and her eyes widen the longer you tell her of your night. This is your routine. You come home from work. You eat your late night dinner. She sits next to you and listens to how your day was. You figure this is her entertainment after being cooped up inside alone all day.
"And there's this guy-" She stares at you, her tiny mouth slightly agape. "Oh, don't give me that look."