TFDC: Day Two -- Courage

Keji Bar
Tokyo, Japan
December 2014

It had been a quiet day for the Keiji, which Jian had earlier thought of as weird.

During December, bars would usually be packed, especially on the days leading to Christmas. A brief glance at his phone told him that it was only a few days until the holiday, and he had braced himself for a wave of customers. Surprisingly enough, however, the amount of people who came in and left was nothing too unbearable, nothing too stressful.

Jian found himself able to take a break every few hours, relaxing and stretching here and there while snacking up and eating when he earned the chance. Even after he finished his lunch, he was surprised to see that the guys running the bar didn’t quite need an extra hand or two.

Either way, he stuck around and helped out when needed. He would rather stay and help for the pay than stay home and rest up alone. Jian Lee was a people person – he liked surrounding himself with the company of people, liked talking to them and making them laugh, making them feel comfortable under this warm, accommodating gaze.

On that particular night, he was about to close up shop. Jian decided to be the last man standing, offering so to the manager, who had gratefully agreed.

The streets outside were quiet. He had just removed the apron around his waist and took off his black bowtie when the door had opened, the chimes alerting him of a new presence. “I’m sorry,” the person – a male – apologized, “Were you just closing up? I can find another if I need to,” he spoke quickly. Jian quickly put a smile on his face and shook his head.

“You can come on right in. Keiji’s always open to those who need it,” he offered kindly. The stranger cracked a smile and took off his hood, and Jian nearly froze on the spot upon realizing who it was.

Macmillan Thomas stared momentarily at the man at the bar, facing breaking out into its usual, carefree grin. “Oh. Long time no see, Jian.”

“Indeed. Have a seat,” the other replied, Mack gratefully taking the stool right in front of the bartender for the night. “What will it be?”

“Give me what you feel like making,” the American said a few beats after. He added, “You might if I smoke a bit?”

“Go right ahead.” He turned back and prepared a glass, asking right after, “Rough day?”

Mack took a pack and lighter out of his pocket, chuckling wearily. “Yeah. ForSci really loves to give you a hard time, especially when you’re teamed up with the Japanese Police.” The cigarette now dangling from his mouth, he lit the end and took a quick drag.

Jian paused, hand clutching the glass bottle. “Oh – you’re with the police?”

“I’m the behind-the-scenes guy,” the curly-haired man explained. “You know how when something comes up – say, a murder – they go there, right? Then they find a few things…a few shards of bloodied glass, a needle in the carpet, etcetera. They package it up and send it to me so I can find out shit about it. I send information back to help them move with the case.”

“Sounds heavy.”

“It’s heavy alright. My team usually wants quick results, but quick means sloppy in my lingo. Can’t rush an examination.” Mack’s fingers fiddled with the cigarette, “Or else things will go wrong and delay the whole thing.”

Jian slid a bottle of ice-cold beer onto the bar, along with a small cup of peanuts. “You need more than a bottle?”

“Get another one for yourself, Jian. My treat.” Mack gave a smirk and the other blinked in surprise. “Seriously. Pull up a stool and talk with me.”

“I can’t, I’m on shift–”

“And I’m the only customer here,” the forensic scientist broke smoothly. “There’s no one else but you and I. and I don’t want you to just stand there awkwardly waiting for me to finish. So take a beer, have some snacks. My treat.”

Jian eyed him hesitantly and eventually relented; Mack watched the bartender with a slightly fond smile as he pulled a chair from the back, soon taking a bottle for himself as well. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

“When offered something like that, you can’t help but accept,” the man admitted, twisting it open and taking a slow drink. With the liquid rushing down his throat, Jian had to admit that it made him feel slightly better. “So what else went on with you?”

“Well…” Mack scratched the back of his neck, the cigarette hanging from his lips, “Stressful day. Lots of samples came in, and I had to help out a few others who needed it. Had to file a couple of reports for my team. Ran on only a few cups of coffee. Ergo, a very drained Mack who needs alcohol and a good-looking bartender to brighten his night.”

Jian spluttered, nearly choking on his drink.

Did he hear what he thought he had heard?”

Cheeks flaming, he caught the eye of the man across him, expecting for Mack to redden up in surprise and glance away despite himself.

But to his disbelief, Mack was merely smiling quietly, drinking calmly from his bottle with a pleased look in his eyes.

The other waited for Jian to recollect himself, judging by the other’s reaction that he wasn’t actually bothered with the compliment at all. He prided himself well with those things; he could tell whenever a person was either unnerved or secretly pleased at the compliments he tended to feed.

Jian’s face had turned a lovely shade of red, particularly at the ears. His eyes had hurriedly met his as if asking for confirmation, and then darted away. His hands suddenly became interested with the texture of the bottle; eyes following and keeping themselves on the condensation of the drink.

The bartender thought of pulling a cheesy literary move. “What? Me, good-looking?”

But Jian wasn’t like that. Jian was scary confident, he knew what he wanted, what he was and wasn’t. Being attractive was something he knew he was – hell, he used it a lot when it came to simple manipulation.

However, having Mack touch on his looks made him fifty shades of flustered instead of giving him a stroked ego and an easy-to-give smirk. “You’re not so bad yourself,” the bartender managed, thankful that he didn’t stutter or stammer.

“You think so?”

“You could use a shave.” He teased, finally laughing when the man’s eyes narrowed playfully upon realization that the other was merely joking around. I’m kidding. He’s beautiful with stubble. Fuck – wait, where did beautiful come from–?

“Too lazy to shave,” Mack wisecracked. “Smooth-ass – literally – chins are the old. Stubble’s the new.”

“What, participated in No Shave November?”

“Might have done that for this month’s bet.” More laughter, more drinks. Mack ended up consuming three bottles while Jian stayed right on one. After all, he had to drive home and didn’t want to end up too inebriated to even function properly.

It was at that moment when Mack’s face had flushed a little too red and his laughs became even louder and out of control when Jian realized that the other had a little too much for himself to handle. “Mack, you need to stop drinking,” he said. Mack was still laughing at a joke he himself had made minutes before. “Come on. Let me get you home.”

“You don’t know my address,” the other gasped. Not drunk yet, but tipsy. Definitely tipsy.

“I can find out,” the other replied smoothly. He rose from the stool and took the bottles, “Stay here. Try to get yourself together.” Mack managed a snicker as well as a nod, Jian moving nimbly and disposing of the bottles, cleaning the used supplies. By the time he came back, Mack had managed to get out the right amount of cash to pay for what the twosome had consumed. “Mack–”

“Shut,” the other mumbled. “I told you, J. Paying for it. Keep the change. Take me home.”

“Right…take you home. Got it,” he whispered, hands shakily taking hold of the cash and turning away from the less-than-coherent man.

* * * * *

Jian thought that courage was his strongest suit, but thought none of that as he drove the forensic scientist home. Mack babbled on about investigations and body parts, and Jian could only nod and listen fondly as he drove into the night.

He never thought that seeing Mack would be a monthly thing; in all honestly, he didn’t expect Mack to come back at all. Majority of customers at the Keiji were one-time comers since a large amount of bars existed around the vicinity – and of all people to end up as regulars, it had to be the crime-kicking group.

Jian thought of their faces. The older Japanese who acted as their glue, a tall and snarky American who he thought of as the group’s strength; then there was a sophisticated and sharp-tongued lady who he suspected as the brains…and then there was Mack.

Macmillan Thomas, he remembered. Strangely enough, he fit into the odd puzzle of four.

There would always be three core parts: the guns, the heart and the head – and all three positions had already been filled up.

He had felt that there was supposed to be one more. And there he was – spirit.

Jian made a smooth right and eventually ended up parking by an apartment with evergreen around. “Mack? Hey, man. We’re here.” He gently prodded the other man’s shoulder and Mack’s eyes jolted open, he sitting up rather rigidly in the seat beside his.

“Oh – shit, we’re actually here?” Mack looked out the window and broke into a slightly amused grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “Christ. We really are here. Wow.”

“Can you walk?”

“I think I can. Hold on.” Mack shifted lightly, “Yeah, I most definitely can. Wow. I haven’t felt tipsy in a while,” he admitted. Turning back to meet Jian’s gaze, he lifted the corner of his lips; a small smirk graced his face. “Shall I see you again soon?”

“You will. Come to Keiji and you will,” he promised.

“Good.” His hand reached for the door handle and he paused momentarily, then turned back to Jian. The bartender eyed him, puzzled.

“Did you forget something?”

“I like you more when you’re brave,” he said carefully. “Courageous – moments like these, taking me home when we barely know each other.”

“What–”

“Don’t be afraid, B-tender. I don’t bite. Much.” Mack’s eyes gave a small, mischievous shine under the dim lampposts and he opened the door, “You know the way back here. Good night.”

“G-Good night,” Jian had attempted. He felt the blood rise to his face and looked down when Mack had closed the door of his home.

And then he saw it.

Another slip of paper on the seat, containing his number (yet again), with a new addition.

His address.  

You know the way back here.