Doll and James

I'm a litte drunk and very sorry

The bar was less hectic than it would have been on a friday, but still busier than Steve would have expected it a thursday - not that he had more experience going to bars in weekdays (or at all).

Glancing around the room he spotted many equally lonely and depressed people, but one stood out.

The dark brown haired girl sitting by the bar seemed too proper to be in a place like The Dead Rabbit, a bar that was, unaffected by the cozy interior, home to mostly alcoholics and the occasional junkies.

Because of that, and the fact that it was walking distance from the tower, it just so happened to be a favourite among the avengers, and one of the only bars Steve could have a drink in without being recognised.

He slid up from the booth he was sharing with no one and approached her, knowing that a guy sitting next to her could and would shield her from the many stares.

"Hi," he greeted, leaning against the bar.

"Hey," the girl asked uninterested, not even sparing Steve a glance.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he tried, and she looked to him before freezing.

"Your shirt is so tight," she commented fascinating, reaching out to touch his chest before she realised what she was about to do.

"What?" Steve asked, slightly confused.

"I mean," she rambled, turning in her seat to face him; "No hate, but no way that's comfortable."

"I-"

"Like, you do realise shirts come in bigger sizes right?"

"Well-"

"Or," she continued, her speech slightly slurred and a slight british accent very present; "Is it an attempt to look bigger?"

"Have a nice evening, miss," Steve said with a polite smile before turning away.

"No, no, I'm-" the girl insisted, making him turn back; "I'm sorry. I'm a litte drunk and very sorry. Let me buy you a drink. As an apology." She scratched her eyes frustratedly and Steve felt a sort of pity.

"So," he mentioned, sitting down next to her; "Why are you drunk?"

"Uh, ethanol. It's in alcohol," she explained, looking down into the glass she was drinking from.

Steve smiled slightly.

"In my experience, people who drink alone are sad people," he told before giving his order to the bartender.

"My dad used to always do it when I was a kid," the girl told him, folding her arms and lying her head down on the table.

"Well, maybe he was sad," Steve jokes, receiving the hardly clean glass from the bartender.

"He was very sad, a very depressed man indeed," she agreed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It was a joke," Steve tried.

"It's fine. It is what it is. What's your name?" she asked, sitting up straight again.

"Steve," he said, leaving out his last name; "Yours?"

"Lana," she told, reaching her hand out to him. He gently grabbed it and they shook hands.

"So, why are you sad Lana?" Steve asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm just... going trough shit," she replied with a sigh; "You?"

"Yeah, me too."

"My dad doesnt want me, neither did my boyfriend and now I'm in a new country and homeless," Lana informed.