I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

one

One entire year at this job did it no justice.

Lennon stared up at the lazy spin of the ceiling fans, wondering why it was up there in the first place at the useless speed it was going. He wished he could've taken the shift right before rush hour, but it was hunger games trying to secure a spot like that, and the poor boy was left to deal with the first drunks of the night.

"Hey!" yelled a familiar voice, "I'll have the usual."

Lennon blinked, looking forward to face one of his least favorite regulars. He smiled halfheartedly. "Greyhound?" he said, just to make sure.

Less than sober people love calling any drink their 'usual'.

"Less ice and salt on the rim. Have you already forgotten?"

Lennon had learnt not to question his behavior. "Salty dog it is, then." He took a glass and lined the rim with lime juice so the salt sticks.

Cal seemed properly desperate for the drink, grabbing it as soon as Lennon finished pouring the grapefruit juice. Sweat trickled down the side of his neck as he tilted his head back for a sip. Typical. Must have stumbled here from another bar, considering how disoriented he was even before his first drink.

He was alone today, no friends to take over a booth with just yet. Surprising.

Music started blaring from the speakers and the lights dimmed to accommodate the mood. Every night Lennon stood behind the bar soaking in those colored spotlights and envisioning the wild light leaks he could've captured with his camera. If only he was allowed to.

A thump sounded when Cal's glass hit the wooden surface. "Another," he demanded.

"Another salty dog?"

"Christ, you ask so many questions. Yes."

That statement stung more than Lennon was willing to admit, sealing his lips shut right afterwards.

The conflict between them was minimal, but consisted of a reoccurring pattern. Cal would speak. Lennon would speak. Cal would complain that he spoke. And Lennon will never open his mouth for the rest of the night.

It takes little to kill our comfort.

__________

The air was chilly when Lennon left, ears ringing from the commotion as he stepped out of the bar. He was lucky to have made it out before things got too crazy.

The chestnut boy breezed by the bus stop. Tiredness was setting into his body, but he enjoyed his long walks home, imprinting the structure of buildings and stores into his brain like a personal blueprint.

When he arrived at his apartment door, he could hear an torrent of meows, smiling as he fished out his keys.

Yes, today was going to be one of those nights where Lennon would spend cuddled up with his favorite creature in the wide whole world... right after he threw out whatever dead bird or rat his cat had taken home to him.

A token of appreciation perhaps.

"Socks," he called softly, unlocking the door with a click and peeking through the gap, "Socks?"

Lennon kicked off his loafers and flicked on the light switch just as he heard noises from his study room. A heavy racket that suggested whatever his cat was trying to kill hasn't died.

Hastily, he headed past the kitchen and down the small hallway, fingers clutching the thin door frame as he poked his head around—

"Get off me you hideous little— beast!"