Live A Little

On Valentine's Day night, Beckett sits at a bar, nursing a tall, thin bottle of beer and glaring at anyone who comes near. He takes another swig of the beverage, grimacing. He never liked beer at the best of times, but the buzz he gets as a result always puts him in a better mood. He crosses his legs, checking his pockets. None of them feel lighter than usual, but he checks them anyways, pretending to search for some coins.

Once he's finished, he sets two dollars on the table. He'll be okay if someone steals those. Beckett reaches for his drink, stopping short when it isn't there. A thin boy spins himself around on the stool next to him; Beckett hadn't heard him approach. He's holding Beckett's beer, smirking up at him with playful grey eyes. Beckett is unsure how to react. The boy must be new in town, because everyone knows that you don't sit next to Beckett Claymore, and you certainly don't steal his beer.

The boy takes a big drink from the bottle and gingerly replaces it. He smacks his lips together experimentally, and declares, "That's freaking disgusting." Then he looks at Beckett, pushing sunshine hair away from his face. "Let me buy you a better drink."

Beckett looks at the boy. His boldness is... Refreshing. "No." But not revolutionarily so. He turns to the bartender, and orders himself another beer.

"But-"

"No."

"What if-"

"No." Beckett gives the boy a stern look, and the boy grins in response.

"Can I ask why?" He leans on the bar, giving Beckett a chance to get a read on the boy. He wears a suit vest over a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He has no watch, arms lined with ink instead. Standard slacks, soft, dark shoes.

His attire strikes Beckett as odd, but he doesn't see the boy as normal anyway. No one approaches him like this, ever. "Because I have no interest in being drugged or indebted to you in any way."

The boy nods, smiling easily. "Fair enough. I'll buy myself a drink, then." He scans the menu board above the bar, then flags down the bartender. "I'll have the raspberry fizz," he says.

Beckett rolls his eyes, then takes another drink of his beer. When he looks up, the boy is gone. Beckett looks to his left, then his right. No sign of the guy who'd been sitting there moments ago. Beckett furrows his brow, and questions his pouting. The boy is gone. Shouldn't he be grateful?

Suddenly, the boy is back, holding a tall glass filled with something rosy pink and bubbly. "I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Oren." He sticks out a hand to shake. Beckett ignores it; a part of Beckett warns that touching the boy is dangerous. "Psst. This is the part where you tell me your name."

Beckett frowns and hunches further over his beer. He doesn't want Oren to know his name. A part of his brain says that he'll use the information for his own agendas, though a small part of him almost blurts his name immediately.

Oren shrugs after a silence. "Fine, fine. I'll get your name one way or another." He sips his pink drink through a straw, and gives a satisfied hum. "This is really good. Try it?" The boy rotates his straw toward Beckett.

Beckett shakes his head, ignores the leap his heart makes at the notion of swapping saliva with this boy. "Don't want to."

Oren shrugs. "Suit yourself, Beckett." Oren stares at Beckett's shocked face, then smirks. "You aren't as good as you think at watching your valuables."

Beckett stares at his wallet as it slides back to him along the bar top like its betrayed him. "How did you get that?"

Oren smiles, glows, and taps his nose. "You should know better than anyone that a good magician never reveals his secrets. Must be a real hot shot, with all those business cards in there."

Beckett grumbles to himself pretending not to be impressed. He has to admit, the boy, Oren, is an excellent pick pocket. Beckett can't recall having been stolen from since his first night in town. He frowns at his beer.

"You know, you should smile more. You'd be cute if you smiled more." Oren pokes Beckett's cheek. "Smile." Beckett frowns harder, and Oren laughs. Beckett blinks in surprise at the way the sound makes all of the glasses on the bar hover six inches above its surface. "Fine. Suit yourself." Oren sips at his drink. "So, Beck, why are you alone tonight?"

Beckett flushes, pretends he isn't, ignores the fact that he's been stood up, as usual. "None of your business."

Oren takes another drink from Beckett's beer and sets it down with a grimace. "Well, I know this place that has great chocolate for sale on Valentine's Day night after ten." He glances at Beckett's watch, which has inexplicably transported to Oren's wrist. "It's nine thirty now, if you wanna pop over there with me?" Beckett opens his mouth to refuse, the obvious answer, but the words get stuck. Oren shrugs, oblivious. "How about this; I'm gonna head on over, and if you decide to come, catch up to me." He slaps a ten on the counter and poofs into the chilly air without a trace.

Beckett sighs. His leg jitters. His fingers tap sequentially, and he wonders when he turned into an anxious percussion session. His body moves on its own. Before he knows it, he's outside, jogging down the sidewalk, tapping Oren on his bony shoulder, eyes widening at the crescent moon grin Oren sends him.

Beckett blinks, disoriented, high on the carbonated warmth that Oren radiates. "I just stole a beer."

Oren grins, laces his fingers between Beckett's; Beckett's cheeks glow pink but he pretends it's from the cold. "That's alright, Beck. Live a little."

Beckett smiles, and lets Oren escort him into the night.

***
Word Count: 999

Wowzers. This was kind of hard to keep under 1000 words, aha, but I've had this scene just floating around for a while now, and I'm happy it's had a chance to shine.
Vote/ comment if you enjoyed or found anything I can improve upon!
xx