07

tw alcohol, underage drinking

So Friday rolls along, as it tends to do.

Caesar can’t say he’s particularly excited. He’s broken the law in terms of alcohol before, sure, obviously, but he’s never been ballsy enough to go to an actual bar. Even when he knows the actual owner is going to know of his presence there, he still has a horrible little sinking feeling in his gut about it.

Still, Caesar manages to make himself very presentable. Sure, he dresses like he usually does; ripped jeans, ratty converse, and a half-buttoned flannel over a shitty band tee, but today he’s managed to tie his mop of blonde hair back and roll his sleeves up so he looks like less of a mess. He actually manages to feel sort of good about his appearance for once.

At least, he does for the first ten minutes after he looks into the mirror. Then he’s back in front of it, fiddling with every little thing he can possibly think of-- when someone knocks on his door. Shit. Must be Benji-- or Floyd? Caesar actually isn’t quite sure who’s coming to get him.

Upon opening the door, Caesar decides that it is most definitely not Benji, but they are very… Cute. Pastel pink sweater, baby blue leggings-- god, are those floral Uggs? In Florida? Somehow, they manage to pull them off, though.

Caesar’s attention is drawn back to their lightly freckled face and intensely blue eyes when they clear their throat. “Hi,” they say in a thick southern accent, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Floyd? I’m here to pick you up for Benji.”

“Ah, hi!” Caesar shakes the hand, not too firm but not so loose that Floyd might think he’s weak. “Yeah, he told me about you.”

They smile and go to brush some pink-tipped blonde hair out of their face. “Okay, cool. Are you ready? The others are in the car already. Um, Misha’s gonna meet us there, though.”

Caesar nods, turning back and patting down his pockets to make sure he’s not forgetting anything. Wallet, keys, phone, earbuds, narcan… Yep, he’s got everything. Perfect. He turns back and gives Floyd a nod and a little smile.

________

The car is cramped, to say the least. Caesar’s in the back with Kelly (a very handsome and heavily tattooed person with the prettiest monolidded brown eyes and messy black fauxhawk) and their fiance, Elliott (a surprisingly tall person with the most colorful hair and makeup Caesar’s ever seen, very nicely accenting their deep brown skin), with Benji and Floyd in the front. The drive isn’t terrible, despite Caesar’s horrible awkwardness around these three and a half strangers.

Kelly seems more interested in their phone than anything else, but Elliott does turn to Caesar and say, “You met Benj through Xana, right?” Their voice is a lot deeper than Caesar expected, but it’s nice to listen to nevertheless.

“Yeah,” he says with a little shrug. “Not much to say about it, uh…”

Eli gives a huff of laughter. “We all know you slept together, it’s fine. That stuff isn’t awkward here.”

Huh. Well, that was easier than Caesar had expected it to be. “Cool,” he manages, turning to look out the window. Traffic sucks ass in Miami.

“So you’re nineteen? First time going to an actual bar?”

Caesar goes red. “Uh, yeah. Not my first time drinking--”

“You’ll have fun, dude. Misha’s super chill.”

“Does Misha usually let underaged people drink at his bar?”

Eli laughs again. “Only if they’re personally vetted by and accompanied by one or all of us. And, good for you, you were vetted by Benji last week.”

Well, that’s better than the dude just letting random people in without knowing them, but still not morally ideal.

Caesar huffs to himself, earning an intrigued look from Elliott. Who’s he to talk about being moral when he very knowingly slept with a married man? Many, many times? Exactly no one, that’s who.

“You don’t have to drink, by the by. This is a peer-pressure-free zone,” they say with a little laugh and a nudge. “We’re just hanging out.” Their voice is calm and gentle, and Caesar can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

“Okay.” Caesar manages a smile, and the rest of the drive is quiet.

________

The bar is surprisingly uncrowded for a Saturday evening. Caesar’s not sure if that means the place is struggling or the owner’s just kicked a few people out for the ease of his friends, but he can’t be bothered thinking about it for too long, because he’s almost immediately being dragged to the bar and sat down on an old stool.

The first thing that catches Caesar’s eye is the bar back; in between shelves, there’s a mirror, and taped to that mirror are dozens of photos of who Caesar assumes to be the owner and his family. The second thing that catches Caesar’s eye is that owner.

He’s Black, and quite tall-- at least compared to Caesar-- and very nicely built. He’s in a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and god, those forearms. Long black dreads are tied back in a half-up bun-esque style with a deep red ribbon. His name tag is pinned to his vest-- Misha. Definitely the owner, and definitely the man in those photos.

Caesar must have been staring, because when Elliott taps his shoulder, they look like they’ve just been told a very funny joke. “You like?”

“I--” Caesar goes a deep shade of red, staring down at his lap.

Eli laughs. “Cute. Misha!” They wave down the guy, and he says goodbye to the person he was talking to and wanders over.

“What’s up, Ell?” he says with a smile. Then, looking at Caesar, he says, “Is this the famous Caesar I’ve heard so much about?”

Caesar goes even redder, and Eli laughs again. “Yep! In all his glory.” They pat Caesar’s back, and he manages a little laugh.

“It’s great to meet you,” Misha says with a grin, holding his hand out to shake. Oh, god, contact. “Benji’s told me a lot about you.”

Caesar takes the hand and Misha shakes it, firm and strong-- good lord, Caesar feels like he’s about to pass out from sheer homosexuality. “Yeah?”

Misha nods, letting go and going to fix his glasses that are… Remarkably similar to Caesar’s. “Yeah! He seems to be quite the fan,” he says with a wink. Oh fuck, Caesar’s heart does a little somersault at that.

Caesar gives a little laugh. “Weird. I could’ve sworn I scared him off.”

Misha shakes his head with a laugh. “Nothing can scare that dude off. He once dated a man who got in a car crash with him on their first date for two years.”

Caesar laughs again, this time more genuine. “Honestly? I can get with that.”

“Right?” God, Misha’s grin is so bright and his eyes are so beautiful and Caesar feels like he’s about to have some sort of heart attack. “Benji’s a fun dude--”

Oh, and speak of the devil, Benji slinks over and wraps an arm around Caesar. “How’re you all getting along?” he coos, flashing Misha a shark-toothed grin.

Elliott returns the grin, pulling Benji away from Caesar and into a hug. Wow, they are… Tall. Benji laughs, clapping their back in a very bro-esque manner. “Caesar’s a sweetie,” Elliott says as they pull away.

Caesar looks away, cheeks burning as Benji chuckles. “Misha? How’re you, man?”

“Great as ever. I get the hype behind the dude.” Misha reaches across the bar to give Benji a fist bump. “Cool guy. What can I get y’all?”

Benji and Elliott both order some weirdly complicated drinks Caesar’s never heard of, but Caesar is just sitting there wondering if it would be weird to just order a straight vodka and leave it at that.

He’s snapped out of his worry when Misha says his name. “You want anything, bud?”

“Uh… Vodka?”

Misha grins. “A man of taste, I see. Sure thing, dude.” He leans across the counter, saying just above a whisper, “It’s on the house for you, if the others didn’t tell you.”

Caesar swallows, hard, because he can smell Misha’s cologne from here and god is it nice. “They-- they did. Thank you.”

Misha smiles as he straightens up again. “No sweat.”

Caesar slouches over in his seat, looking to Benji and Eli-- who seem to be deep in conversation. After a moment of searching, he catches sigh of Kelly and Floyd in the back corner of the bar, Kelly whispering something into Floyd’s ear as a taller man approaches the two of them.

Caesar is this time slung out of his thoughts by Misha setting down a shot glass. “Here you are,” he says with a smile, before setting down another one presumeably for himself.

Caesar hums, giving Misha a thankful nod as he takes his drink.

“So,” Misha says, leaning against the counter, “what do you do?”

Caesar presses his lips together, looking down. “Uh, I work at a gas station near my school.”

Misha lights up, grinning wide. “Yeah? Where do you go?”

“That’s a long one,” Caesar says with a huff. “University of Miami Leonard M. Miller School of Medicine-- fuckin’ mouthful.” He knocks back the shot, setting it down and nudging it across the counter in the universal movie-language gesture of ‘get me another.’

Misha parts his lips in awe, standing up a little straighter. “Med school, huh? That’s impressive.” He shifts his weight and cocks his head a bit, a brow raised. “Are you from around here?”

Caesar shakes his head. “Came from Maine.”

Misha gives a barking of laughter. “Maine, huh? How’s the heat treating you?”

“Shit.”

Misha snorts. “I trust you’ve got a good AC. I’m from New York-- my first summer here knocked me the fuck back. I swear, I got heat stroke, like, three times.”

Caesar laughs a little. “I’m still not used to it, and it’s been, like, four months. Hell, the weather today is about as hot as it ever got in Windham.”

Misha nods, again leaning forward and bracing himself on the counter. “So, do you wanna keep just talking about the weather, or can I hit on you?”

Oh, fuck. That’s enough to bring Caesar’s heart to his throat and his eyes straight down to the floor. “Um--” He laughs. “You, uh, you can do what you want.”

Misha’s eyes light up. “Well-- I must say, then, I definitely see what Benji saw in you. You,” he says, leaning in a bit further, “are quite handsome.”

Caesar presses his lips together, a whine rising in his throat. “You are going to kill me, Misha. This is how I die.” He manages a laugh, glancing up at Misha (with his eyes, not daring to move his head). “Death by hot guy.”

“Hah! Flatterer.” Misha reaches across the counter and gives Caesar’s head a pat. “So,” he says as he again stands up straight. “What do you like to do? Give me your hobbies, bro.”

Oh, shit, that’s a hard one. Caesar hums, looking back down as Misha prepares him another drink. “I’m into music, I guess. Uh, my dad still hasn’t gotten my bass mailed back to me yet, though, so I’m stuck with just my guitar.”

Misha honest to god lights up like a small child coming downstairs on Christmas morning. “Shit, dude! I love that. I used to play guitar, but I picked up violin in high school and just stuck with that instead. I didn’t have the time to keep up with both, y’know?”

Caesar finally fully looks up at Misha. The thought of this big, beefy man playing something as delicate as that-- honestly, it just makes Caesar even more enamored. He can only imagine how Misha feels at the thought of puny 5’8 Caesar playing an instrument bigger than he is. “That’s really cool,” he finally says. “I did orchestra in high school, but… I dunno what I’m gonna do with it now.”

“Well, you don’t need to do anything with it if it’s something you enjoy. Not everything’s gotta be productive, yeah?” Misha smiles as he sets down Caesar’s second shot. “Some things can be just for you. Like, uh… I paint. I’m absolute shit at it, especially compared to my little brother, but I love it, man. Guaranteed to calm me down after a shit day, yeah?”

Oh shit! Encouragement! Caesar, for some reason, does not like this, so he just takes his drink and looks down again, sipping at it with a little grimace. The things he’ll do for a buzz. “You’re not wrong,” he manages.

Misha knocks back his own drink like a champ. “So, there’s a festival downtown next weekend. We should go together.”

Caesar nearly chokes on his vodka. “Like, all of the others too?”

“If you want. Only Benji really likes that stuff, and he’s got another group for it.”

Caesar stares for a moment, his lips parted. “Really?”

Misha chuckles. “Yeah, of course. I’ll pay for your ticket, too.”

Caesar hesitates, and then shrugs, knocking back the rest of his vodka. “Sure.”