SkepHalo Oneshots cuz Why Not?

Line Dancing

I'm back with a cowboy auuuu!!!

—

Skeppy's eyes were locked on the television in front of him, staring daggers at the football game that played. Several people were gathered around the bar, intense and focused looks glued over each and every face.

Skeppy never went to bars to watch a football game, but after a long day of driving, the idea of stopping, getting a drink, and watching a snippet of today's game sounded like a good idea; so far it was a good idea.

He had had a drink or two, but he would sip them slowly, cringing at the strong, stingy taste of the cold beverage. He coughed as the smoke and scent of a cigar drifted around his face, glancing over his shoulder to see three older men gossiping about the game, a cigarette resting in each mouth.

When one man caught his eye, he snapped his head back around, embarrassingly putting his attention back on the football game. In a heartbeat, a touchdown was made and the bar erupted with cheers of joy.

He grabbed his half empty, half full glass, pressing it against his lips as he slowly sipped at the beverage, forcing the metallic taste down his throat.

I should really just get a water. He thought to himself, setting the glass down in the polished, wooden table. The crowd surrounding the television seemed to back off, everyone going over to a different section of the bar to line dance. Skeppy gladly ignored the few women who approached him, asking if he'd join them and dance.

He wasn't from the country, he didn't even know how to line dance, and he knew each person who approached him wasn't sober. He'd stay out right there on the bar stool and watch the remainder of the football game, disregarding the fact that he didn't know how football worked.

Thirst began to claw at his throat. He tried to choke the feeling down, but it was becoming too unbearable, and he sadly took another sip of the unappetizing beer. He hissed at the terrible taste, accidentally slamming it down against the table.

"You're not gonna finish that, are you?" An unknown voice asked, snagging Skeppy's attention off the disgusting taste lingering on his tongue.

He looked to his side, seeing a—what he assumed—a cowboy, an arm propped up on the bar table, one resting against his thigh. He had a small smile plastered on his face, and Skeppy wanted to quickly assume he was trying to be friends.

"Uhm—no, it's horrible—I mean, it's just not my thing." Skeppy blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth. He silently cussed under his breath, wishing he hadn't even responded.

"Mm, typical. You need a water?" The stranger asked, and Skeppy was actually happy someone recommended water to him. His only response was an embarrassed nod, and the boy mouthed the word 'O.K.'

While they waited for a bartender to come their way, Skeppy looked over the unfamiliar guy. His long, strangely beautiful hair was tied in a low-hanging pony tail, trailing down his back. His glasses were perched near the edge of his sunburned nose, his emerald-forest like eyes glowing in the dim bar light.

His red flannel was tucked nicely into his jeans, and Skeppy assumed he was trying to show off the large, golden buckle locked on the center of his leather belt. His jeans were tore here and there, giving the idea that he either did lots of farm work if the jeans were worn down. The jeans fell over his shiny, black boots, and if he moved a foot, the spurs strapped around his boots would jingle.

He had a small scruffy beard and freckles spread across his cheeks, but they were partially hidden the shadows of the black, cowboy hat perched on his head. A bartender soon approached, and the cowboy asked for a water, flicking his eyes over to Skeppy.