The bar didn't have a name. Or maybe it did at some point, but the letters on the old neon sign had long since burned out, leaving behind a flickering mess of light that barely worked. It wasn't a place where college kids usually hung out—too sketchy, too run-down—but that's exactly why Alex and Damian liked it. Nobody here gave a shit who they were.
They pushed through the heavy wooden door, stepping into the dimly lit space. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap liquor, and something fried. The bartender, an older guy with a face like he'd seen too much of the world, barely looked up.
"Two of whatever's strong and cheap," Alex said as they slid onto the barstools.
The bartender grunted and grabbed a bottle. The whiskey burned on the way down, but that was the point.
"Fuck, that's awful," Damian coughed, setting his glass down.
Alex grinned. "Exactly."
They sat in silence for a moment, letting the alcohol settle in their stomachs. Around them, the bar hummed with quiet conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from some drunk regular in the corner. It was the kind of place where nobody asked questions, and if they did, you could just ignore them.
"So," Damian finally said, swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass. "What's the game plan? Drink until we forget our miserable lives?"
"Basically." Alex leaned back against the bar. "Unless you have a better idea?"
Damian snorted. "Nope. Just making sure we're on the same page."
Alex downed the rest of his drink in one go. "We always are."
They ordered another round. Then another. And before long, the weight in their chests started to fade, replaced by the warm haze of alcohol.
At some point, Alex turned to Damian, his head buzzing. "You ever think about—" He stopped, frowning at his glass like it had betrayed him. "Never mind. It's stupid."
Damian raised an eyebrow. "Oh, hell no. You don't get to start a sentence like that and then just drop it."
Alex hesitated, then sighed. "I was just gonna say… You ever think about what it'd be like if we just left? Like, actually did it. Got in a car and fucking left everything behind?"
Damian exhaled, tapping his fingers against his glass. "Yeah. All the time."
Alex looked at him, surprised. "Really?"
"Of course," Damian muttered. "You think I wanna spend the rest of my life stuck in the same bullshit cycle? My mom dating losers, you dealing with your dad's shit, both of us acting like it's fine when it fucking isn't?"
Alex didn't say anything. He just stared down at his empty glass, feeling the weight of Damian's words settle in his chest.
"Thing is," Damian continued, "even if we did leave, where the fuck would we go? It's not like we have money. Or a plan. We'd just be two dumbasses on the road with nowhere to sleep."
Alex thought about that for a second. "I mean… Sounds kinda fun, though."
Damian gave a small, tired laugh. "Yeah. It does."
They sat there for a while, lost in the idea of running away, even though they both knew they wouldn't.
"Fuck it," Alex said, pushing his glass forward. "More whiskey."
The bartender poured.
And just like that, they drank their way through another Friday night, drowning out the reality they couldn't escape.