Marik didn't choose to end up a bartender, but he also didn't choose to lose his job in the university tutoring center, either. How was it his fault that two students decided the tutoring center was the perfect place to brawl out their feelings on a Friday night, when he was the only tutor on staff? Okay, so maybe he might have egged them on a little bit. But that shouldn't have gotten him fired.

He dropped the beer-reeking rag he held into the bucket of grey water, grimacing at the whole thing. His life had gone from sitting in an air conditioned room and telling people how to win over their science professor, to cleaning up spilled alcohol and vomit. But hey, at least it meant free drinks? And attractive men. He wandered back behind the bar and dumped the nasty water into the mop sink to fill it back up, and turned around just in time for the door to open. In walked a trio of men, laughing and pushing each other in that way 20-somethings often do.

And in the center of them was a golden-haired god. He was tall, thin, and definitely spent most of his free time at the gym. Marik only realized he'd been staring when Jenny, the barkeeper, elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop ogling the customers, you weirdo. Finish refilling your bucket and get out to table 12. Someone rejected their alcohol all over the floor."

His stomach roiled at the thought of yet another vomit puddle, but such was the life of working at a bar. At least it gave him a chance to get closer to the blonde stranger and get a better look at him.

Marik told himself he wasn’t staring, even though he absolutely was, and Jenny’s second elbow to his ribs only proved it. He muttered something about workplace harassment and hauled the mop bucket toward table twelve, trying not to breathe too deeply as he approached the newest disaster zone. The floor glistened with the kind of sheen that only came from someone who’d had one drink too many and a stomach too weak to handle it. He crouched down, resigned to his fate, and began scrubbing while the trio of newcomers settled at a high‑top nearby.

Their laughter rolled across the room, warm and bright, and Marik found himself glancing up despite his better judgment. The blonde was even more striking up close, which felt unfair. People that attractive should come with some kind of warning label so unsuspecting guys like him didn’t accidentally make eye contact and forget how to function.

“Hey, man,” a voice said, smooth and low enough to make Marik’s grip on the mop handle slip. “You okay down there?”

He looked up, and there he was. The golden-haired god himself, leaning over the table with a concerned tilt to his head. His eyes were a ridiculous shade of blue, the kind that made Marik think of summer skies and other poetic nonsense he had no business thinking about while kneeling beside a puddle of vomit.

“Living the dream,” Marik said, because sarcasm was easier than honesty. “You know, glamorous job, adoring fans, all that.”

The blonde laughed, and it was a warm sound that made Marik’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t appreciate. “I’m Henri,” he said, offering a hand before realizing Marik’s was currently occupied with a mop. “Right. Maybe later.”

“Marik,” he replied, trying not to sound like he was introducing himself to a celebrity. “Welcome to Jenny’s Tavern, where the drinks are cheap and the ingredients questionable.”

Henri grinned, and it did something to Marik’s insides that he refused to examine too closely. “We were told this place had character.”

“Oh, it has character,” Marik said, wringing out the mop. “That character is shitty dive bar.”

Henri’s friends called him back to the table, but not before he gave Marik one last look, lingering a moment longer than necessary. Marik told himself he imagined it. People like Henri didn’t look at people like him, not in any way that mattered. Still, as he stood and carried the bucket away, he caught himself smiling.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.