The bar had seen better days. There was wood floor that he was sure had been there since it had first been installed about forty some years ago if those long scuff marks and stains were anything to go by. The bottle of licorice liquor had a lot of dust on the neck too. Wes didn’t want to know how long it had sat there waiting on the shelf. It wouldn’t have been his first choice but after tipping back a couple more gulps once Conrad passed it back, it started to grow on him.
“Protect me? Hey, I’m scrappy. Don’t let my innocent features fool you. I’ll fight dirty. Don’t you worry about me, Bitter Betty.” Though there was a smile on his face and a lightness to his tone, his chest was tight and there was an uncomfortable lump in his throat. As much as he appreciated the idea of Conrad coming to his defense, he didn’t want him to die trying. His father had already paid that price. Wes didn’t need more guilt on his conscience.
And even though he’d only known the other man a few days, he’d grown accustomed to his face.
Leaving the licorice delight behind, he joined Conrad over by the multi-colored relic. It was fun to watch him have these new experiences over old things like this. Wes leaned on the side of the jukebox and grinned. “Madonna is good. I might have jammed to a few of her hits in the shower. But Queen?” He clicked his tongue. “I’m about to rock your world. Shimmy over, let me look to see what they got.” He moved and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him (okay, shoulder to arm because jesus, Conrad was tall) as he went quickly through the songs. While anything by Freddie Mercury would have been gold to their ears, Wes’ picked one of his lesser played.
This thing called love, I just can’t handle it. This thing called love, I must get ‘round to it. I ain’t ready. Crazy little thing called love-
Okay, it was one of more top songs but it was his favorite. He turned and smirked. “I defy you to listen to this song and not want to move with it. This was actually inspired by Elvis. I was more into Eminem and punk rock growing up but I’d hear some old school rock and roll being played from the other apartments in my building. I know people give Eminem shit for being a white rapper but who really gives a damn? I’ll listen to Eminem all day long. The man’s a poet.” After realizing he’d rambled on for too long, Wes cleared his throat and bit tongue on an apology. “So obviously I’m into music. What, um, did you like Elvis?”