Chapter Text
Alex Smith had always been a bit reckless. It was well-known to his friends that if he wasn't spending the night drinking, he was already drunk and probably had a lighter in his hand and fireworks at his feet. They all even had the nearest hospitals on speed dial in case they couldn't locate him. (Because if he wasn't answering their calls or at home, it was likely he had ended up being rushed to the ER.) Alex Smith leaped before thinking, and he leaped often.
He usually ended up with a concussion, burnt hair, or a new scar.
So it was no surprise he was spending his Friday night with whiskey in his hands at his usual watering hole, trying to decide if he wanted to spend the rest of his night drinking or find something to do out in the city. It itched under his skin, the need to do something spontaneous, especially after he spent all day keeping himself together, contained and presentable, during work.
His eyes landed on the young man at the end of the bar, his drink held in between both hands. He was tall, probably nearly Alex's height, with a short mess of black hair and, he could see even from this distance, sharp blue eyes. Alex watched as the man kept his eyes down, as another (too-old looking) man with greasy hair slinked an arm around his shoulder and leaned closer to be heard over the music.
Alex hadn't really thought about it, but he was pretty sure he had seen this happen several times with different men so far in the night, hassling this poor guy. Judging by the way the blue-eyed man kept rolling his shoulders out from under Greasy McGross's arm and avoiding eye contact, it wasn't a welcome experience.
Without so much as pausing, Alex held his drink tighter and slid off his stool, striding over before carefully placing a light hand on the blue-eyed man's arm. The young man started just slightly, looking up at Alex mutely with a flash of fear across his face. Before Alex could scold himself for obviously coming off frightening (him and Greasy had boxed the poor boy in), Alex spoke carefully, feigning irritation. “Hey, babe, I know we were arguing, but do you really have to let strangers put their hands all over you?” Alex ignored the cerulean eyes staring up at him in shock in favor of staring levelly at the greasy man in front of him (who looked far too old to be hitting on the poor blue-eyed boy.)
“You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend,” Greasy McGross said in a low voice, and Alex recognized the anger starting to bubble up in it.
“I–” the blue-eyed one said, unconsciously leaning away from him and closer to Alex. Alex slipped his arm protectively around his shoulders, though he made sure to not rest his arm's weight on him.
“Didn't tell you he was single, though, did he?” Alex said evenly. He had no way of knowing what they had said, and he mentally crossed his fingers that his guess had been right.
Thankfully, the hobo-looking prick simply glared and picked up his own drink. “Keep a better rein on your boyfriend, then, asshole.”
Alex bit his tongue to keep from replying scathingly, and removed his arm when the skeevy man had disappeared in the crowd. He set his drink down and took the seat beside the young man.
“Alex Smith,” he said cheerily, grinning as if that had been a walk in the park. He held out his hand.
“Ross Hornby.” Ross stared at him with confusion as he shook Alex's hand. “Why did you…?” he gestured vaguely, fidgeting with his own drink nervously with his free hand.
“You didn't seem to be having a very good night,” Alex said simply, taking a swig of his whiskey.
Ross' eyes widened before laughter erupted from his lips, and Alex would've felt bad about the near-manic tone of it if he wasn't so enraptured by the sound of it. “That was incredible. The excuse of us having a fight to explain why you weren't here–”
Alex grinned and mock bowed. Ross laughed harder before finally letting it die down in favor of catching his breath.
“Wow,” he said softly, smiling gently at Alex. “Thank you, for that.”
Alex's grin softened and he nodded. “'Course, mate.” He lifted his drink to his lips but paused. “Not to say you can't handle yourself, but I could stick around the rest of the night. If you'd like.”
Alex was glad he was sitting, because the smile Ross gave him made his joints feel like they were filled with jelly.
“Sure, Smith, I'd like that.”