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The bar was a familiar place, one Tommy had avoided like the plague since the breakup. It was the kind of dive that had the charm of a well-worn leather jacket—comfortable and full of history, but with an undercurrent of bittersweet memories. The air was thick with the scent of spilled beer and fried food, a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses mingling with the muted sounds of the basketball game playing on the numerous screens scattered throughout the room. The place was fairly full at 3 o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
He had vowed never to come back to this side of town, not since the breakup. But this place was the only bar he could find that aired east coast sports, so here he was, nursing a beer and waiting for the game to start. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished wood of the bar. The Celtics were set to face off against the Miami Heat, and as a die-hard fan, he couldn't resist, and yet all he could focus on was the familiar figure across the room. Evan.
Evan Buckley sat at a table with a couple of people Tommy didn’t recognize, his laughter ringing out like music, a sound that had once filled Tommy’s life with warmth. The sharpness in Tommy’s chest twisted as he watched Buck lean back, the way his short, curly blonde hair caught the dim light, the way his blue eyes sparkled when he laughed. Damn it. He looked good.
Tommy took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memories flooding back— the softness of his skin, the warmth of his embrace, his welcoming body. He hadn’t seen him in nearly two months. Two months of silence, of regret, of longing.
Tommy gulped, half-expecting the ground to swallow him whole. He shouldn’t have come. He should have stayed away, but the allure of the game was too strong. He wanted to look away, to focus on the screen, but his gaze kept drifting back to Buck. Memories flooded his mind: lazy afternoons spent on the couch, the way Buck's lips felt against his skin, the late-night conversations that turned into early mornings.
“Hey, you good?” The bartender, a mid-thirties guy with an easy smile, wiped down the counter and caught Tommy’s eye.
“Yeah, just… watching the game,” Tommy replied, though his gaze remained glued to Buck.
The bartender followed his line of sight, eyebrows raising slightly. “Ah, Buck. You know him?”
“Just from around town,” Tommy replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind inside him.
“He’s been coming here a lot since… you know.” The bartender leaned closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.
“Know what?” Tommy raised his eyebrow in question at the bartender.
“The breakup? Dude got his heart stomped on by his ex-boyfriend. Starting showing up regularly after Thanksgiving saying something about how his crème brûlée never came out right… I don’t know what that means but…” The guy trailed off from his little speech.
Tommy sat there unblinking, feeling his stomach fall to his feet, his vision a little blurry all of a sudden. “Oh.”
“Yeah… sometimes he’s fine, drinks some beers, plays music on the jukebox, and laughs at jokes… but other nights…?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head sadly.
“Other nights?” Tommy leaned in, drawn in by the bartender’s words.
“Yeah, other nights he just gets hammered, takes shots like they’re water, and rants about how he’s swearing off men after his ex broke his heart. Done being played for a fool. It’s kind of sad, really.” The bartender shrugged, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“But when he's chill, you know, he’s fun.” He cleared some empty glassware next to Tommy and loaded the washer behind the bar.
Tommy’s stomach in his shoes twisted. The ex. That was him. A part of him wanted to laugh bitterly, while another part felt the sting of shame. He hadn’t known Buck had been venting about him, but hearing it cut deep.
“Sounds rough,” Tommy managed, forcing his eyes back to the game. The players moved across the screen, but his heart was still tethered to Evan, who was now engaged in animated conversation with his companions.
The bartender continued, oblivious to the emotional turmoil brewing inside Tommy. “If you’re thinking about talking to him, I’d suggest coming around on nights when he’s in a better mood. Beer nights, you know? He’s more approachable then. Tonight he seems happy, you might be able to make him even happier!” The guy winked in jest.
Tommy gave a small fake smile, his voice thin. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just… be up front with him in what you want, what you’re expecting I mean. I shouldn't care, you know? I don’t really know him, but I do know what immense hurt looks like and that kid seems to have experienced it more than any one person should have had to.”
“Right.” Tommy shook his head in a tight nod and swallowed hard, unable to make a sound. All his energy focusing on not letting the tears in the back of his eyes come to the front and spill down his cheeks. He felt a mix of emotions all at once. Glad this stranger was looking out for Evan and furious at himself for causing the hurt Evan was now walking around with at the forefront.
He could feel the bartender’s curious gaze on him so he forced his attention back to the game, leaving Tommy to his thoughts.
After a minute he stole another glance at Buck, who was animatedly chatting with his friends, a smile lighting up his face. It felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He remembered the sound of Evan’s laughter, the way it made everything else fade away. He wished he could just walk over there, grab his shoulders, and tell him how sorry he was. How much he missed him. But what if he didn’t feel the same? What if he was truly done with Tommy?
Tommy’s heart raced as he wrestled with his emotions. The game was on, but he couldn’t focus, his mind wandered back to Buck’s lips—the memory of their kisses igniting a fire deep within him. He remembered how they used to share laughter over late-night pizza after long mismatched shifts, how easily they’d fit together, like pieces of a puzzle that made perfect sense.
The cheers and jeers of the other bar patrons blurred into a dull roar, and all he could hear was the thumping of his heart in his ears. He wanted to scream, to shake the uncertainty loose, but the fear of rejection held him captive.
“Want another?” The bartender’s voice pulled him back to reality.
“Yeah.” Tommy’s voice was barely above a whisper.
As he waited for his drink, he took a lingering look at Evan. There was an unquenchable ache in his chest, a yearning that felt insatiable. The way Evan’s laughter floated through the air was intoxicating, and Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if he still had a chance.
The bartender returned with the beer, placing it in front of Tommy. It was one of his favorite craft brews, limited edition, only brewed once a year but now it tasted like sawdust. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Tommy took a sip, the warmth of the hops spreading through him, but it only dulled the edges of his senses. He glanced back at Buck, still laughing, his eyes bright with mischief. The bartender’s words lingered in his mind—if he wanted to win Buck back, he needed to catch him on a good night.
He sipped at the beer, the dark liquid getting warmer by the minute while he watched the clock tick forward into the next hour. With a heavy heart, Tommy set down his glass. He didn’t want to be here, trapped in the past.
He needed to move on, to let go of the what-ifs. Yet, as he glanced once more at Buck, he realized that moving on felt impossible when his heart still clung to the memories of their love. Yes, love, he was- no, is he is still very much in love with Evan Buckley. He can call it that now because he knows that’s what he feels and he’s pretty sure Evan did too, right up until Tommy fucked it all up anyway.
He stood, dropping a few twenty’s on the bar top, enough to ensure the bartender got a more than decent tip, giving Evan one last lingering look.
He felt a bittersweet ache as he turned toward the back door, slipping out of the bar with the weight of his choices bearing down on him. The laughter faded behind him, and the evening air was cool against his skin, but inside, he felt utterly lost.