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He headed for the military district, where he knew he’d find exactly what he was looking for. Every species state and every station was different, but every military district was the same.
His pace far too fast to be casual but slow enough not to draw attention, Garin wound through the streets until robes and glitz and glam gave way to pants, patches, and a certain grittiness he hadn’t realized he’d missed.
From there, it didn’t take long for him to find the lighted sign above an entryway. Around here, the owners of the establishment hadn’t bothered with a fancy name. The sign simply said “Bar”, and that was all Garin needed.
He hesitated before pushing open the door, realizing at the last minute that he still wore his suit from the gala. Then he decided he didn’t give a fuck, and once he ordered his drink and found his corner, no one else would either.
He entered and inhaled the familiar smells. He’d never been so comforted by the tang of alcohol. The smell of smoke wasn’t as heavy, qesh not having quite the same nicotine receptors that humans did, but Garin had never cared for that anyway, and the biting scent of liquor was more than enough for him.
He bee-lined for the stool against the farthest wall, not lifting his head until he secured it.
“Coming in here dressed like that? I’m guessing a double.” The qesh with the shorn hair minding the bar, leaned his elbows on the dull metal as soon as Garin took his seat.
“For starters, at least,” Garin confirmed with a grim smile. As the qesh pulled something down from the top shelf, Garin spun on his stool to survey the room.
There was a near even split of the three main species, which made sense considering the sector-wide negotiations that had just concluded.
Klah’eel drank and arm wrestled in a corner. A group of humans squabbled around the pool table. Two qesh in sleek black outfits matched each other shot for shot in another corner while their comrades looked on.
There truly was no place like a bar to bring out stereotypes. And Garin was more than ready to step into his current trope: the heartbroken drunk hunched over by himself. He turned back into his corner, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the metal bar. There was no one here he knew or recognized and no one likely to recognize him, so he was free to lick his wounds in peace.
The bartender thumped a heavy glass in front of Garin. “I took the liberty of picking your poison for you.”
Earth-style whiskey. They really were leaning into stereotypes then. Garin wasn’t complaining.
The bartender sensed his mood like a practiced professional and didn’t comment when Garin swallowed half the glass in a single gulp. He simply nodded and moved along down his line, checking on the other customers, most of which seemed to be enjoying life just fine.
Good for them.
Garin swigged another devil-may-care-sized mouthful, then took it easy. He wasn’t actually much of a drinker and the whiskey burned enough in tiny sips. He nursed his drink slowly, contemplating how long he’d have to sit at the bar if he drank at his current rate until the pain dulled.
“Where’s your redhead?”
The familiar voice, spoken so quietly and so closely, startled Garin out of his skin. He’d been so intent on burying himself in the corner, he’d turned his back on the room’s points of entry. He supposed that went to show how emotionally fucked up he was, which went to show how emotionally attached he’d gotten.
Idiot. Foolish, foolish idiot.
He stole a look over his shoulder, knowing who he was going to see, but reluctant to put himself through the pain of it. Sazahk stood behind him, looking resplendent and awkward in his flowing golden robes. He was so fucking pretty and adorable. It wasn’t fair. Garin’s grip tightened around his glass and his chest spasmed. It wasn’t fair.
Then the shock of seeing him wore off, and Garin registered his words.
Redhead? What the hell was he talking about?
Finally, Garin remembered the flirtatious young man that had sidled up to him at the champagne tower. His intentions and interests had been plain enough, but Garin had barely been aware of him.
He hadn’t even seen his pretty smile through the looping memories playing in his mind’s eye of his time with Sazahk. He’d analyzed them over and over, searching for exactly where he’d mis-stepped, where he’d made the fatal miscalculation that had resulted in him being heartbroken at a gala.
But he remembered the redhead now, and he remembered the soft touch of the man’s fingers on his forearm, and when he realized what Sazahk was getting at, he spun around on his stool, indignity yanking his shoulders back.
“Are you…?” Garin gaped at the black wisps escaping Sazahk’s collar. “Sazahk, you do not get to be jealous!”
“I am well aware of that limitation on my emotional rights.” Sazahk pressed his lips together, but despite his words, the black wisps only grew darker and crawled up his throat. “I merely… I apologize.”
Sazahk’s pout and his valiant effort to change his colors softened Garin’s heart. He turned back to his drink and pounded the rest of it. He didn’t want to soften. Softening had gotten him into this mess.
“The alcohol in that glass is more than double the standard drink for a human male.” Sazahk still stood behind Garin, not having taken a single step closer or away.
“I know that.” Garin hadn’t actually known that, but he’d known the drink was a lot. “And I want another one.” He waved to the bartender, who eyed them both.
