Nights that you get off of work are some of the best, especially when you don't have to go in the next day as well. You could relax in the bath and go to bed at whatever time you want, or you could go to the see a film and get takeaway. Honestly, you could do anything, and deciding what to pick can honestly be overwhelming at times.
That's why you're grateful when your phone buzzes and lights up, signalling that you've received a text. You're not even slightly surprised to see it's from John Shelby, your best friend and co-worker. Every time you two have the next day off, he texts you and asks to go out drinking. Even on days when you have work the next morning, he'll ask to go drinking. Unfortunately for you, your feelings for John go beyond those of friendship, so after some begging on his part, you end up saying yes, which you always regret when you're hungover the next morning while listening to Tommy give orders.
You check your phone anyway, only to see your notifications inundated with emojis, something you wish John didn't know about, like his brothers. You roll your eyes, and text back 'what time?'. Thankfully, you only have to wait for a couple of seconds before he texts back 'Now! I'm here already!'. That's one of the greatest things about John; he texts back immediately.
Already out of your work clothes and in casual wear, you simply put your phone in your pocket and grab a jacket, making sure you have enough money to keep up with John for the night. With your key in your hand, you head out the door, ready to walk to the Garrison that thankfully is only two streets away from your flat.
The walk is quick, as the streets are mostly empty at this time of the evening. The sky is already getting dark, and the air is cold but not freezing. As you walk, you find yourself getting excited for summer months, when you don't have to bundle up at all and the sun shines all day.
The lights of The Garrison come into your view, and you can hear the chatter and background music already from the speakers. While it may not be the fanciest pub or even the liveliest, it feels like home. Especially when it's full of Shelby's. Tonight though, there seems to only be one Shelby, you discover when you step inside.
John sits at the bar, an unusual spot for him. He always prefers the table in the snug where his family sits. Even when it's just him and you, he's usually back there. But he's also usually a lot more sober when you show up. Now he's giggling at seemingly nothing and his words are slurring as he thanks Harry for taking away his empty glass and putting another one in front of him.
You approach from behind, and when you're about to sit on the empty stool beside him, he finally notices you.
"Y/N!" He cheers much too loudly, attracting the attention of some people in the pub. Most are used to the noise of the Shelby clan, however, so they pay no notice. "You're finally here!"
"You only texted me 10 minutes ago, John," you point out, but then you let out a squeal as you're pulled into a hug by your drunk friend. While the hug is too tight, you can't help but love the feeling of his arms around you, and the warmth of his chest against yours. He keeps you there for longer than most people would, but given his drunken state, it's not unusual.
"It felt like fuckin' forever," he groans, rolling his eyes over dramatically as he lets you get onto the stool. You chuckle at his theatrics.
"How much have you had to drink?"
"Not much," he replies, looking down at the glass in front of him, avoiding eye contact all of a sudden. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Harry shake his head, telling you what you already know.
"Nice of you to start without me."
He chuckles and says, "I've had nothing to do all day, so I came here."
With a nod, you wave Harry over, ordering your usual. When he sets it down in front of you, you lean in and whisper, "I'll take him home after this one, don't worry." Harry sighs in relief at this.
You turn back to John, who's in his own world at this stage. You have to admit, his behaviour is off. Usually a drunk John is a happy John. Tonight, he's closed off and quiet. Knowing that the pub isn't the best place to ask about it, you keep your questions to yourself and decide not to say anything until you two leave.
You pick up your glass and raise it, catching his attention.
"To not having to work tomorrow," you toast, tipping your glass off John's and quickly downing some of it. John does the same, thankfully, meaning that you won't have to wait long for him to finish, so you can get him home.
It only takes 5 more minutes for John to completely empty his glass. You finish yours at the same time, and quickly stop him from ordering another round. He looks at you in confusion, as if he's not swaying on the stool.
"I think we should get you home, John. You're not looking well."
"No, no, I'm fine," he reassures you, patting your arm limply.
"You don't want to be sick in the morning, but you'll definitely be if you keep drinking."
"No I won't. I'm not some kid," he huffs, exactly like a child would. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pick a different tactic.
"Well I'm wrecked, mate. I'm going home now anyway, so you might as well leave too." He looks unsure for a moment before he nods.
"Alright, alright, fine. We'll go now."
Cheering internally, you hand Harry the money for your one drink and help John off the stool. As soon as he's standing, he starts to sway, leading you to put his arm around your shoulders and yours around his waist, preparing to half carry him home if he falls. Bidding goodnight to Harry, you lead John out the door.
Once outside, he starts muttering incoherently under his breath.
"What's that, John boy?" You ask him.
"Don't worry about it," is all he says, making you sigh.
"Come on John, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing. It's stupid, and I can't tell ya."
"We're best friends," you point out, "you can tell me anything."
"Not this, I can't." Knowing that John is as stubborn as a bull, you reluctantly stop asking questions. Maybe it's just a family problem that he doesn't want you getting involved in. That happens from time to time.
John lives even closer to The Garrison than you do, so you're at his door not long after. He fumbles around in his pocket for the keys, and manages to fish them out after a few failed attempts. When it comes to actually unlocking the door though, he fails completely, prompting you to take them from him and do it yourself. You open the door and lead him in, turning the lights on as you enter.
"Think you can make it up the stairs without me?" You ask him. He shakes his head. "Alright then, I'll help." He mumbles a 'thank you' as you climb the steps carefully, not wanting to drop him or fall down the narrow steps.
"You need any more help?" He waves you off drunkenly.
"I don't want to bother ya," he hiccups, making you grin.
"We've been friends for years. You're never a bother."
"Fuckin' friends and that's it," you hear him mutter under his breath, making you pause.
"What do you mean, John?" He looks surprised that you heard, obviously thinking he spoke quieter.
"That you're my friend and that's all....and I don't like that," he admits, not looking up at you, choosing to stare at his shoes instead as he kicks them off clumsily.
"Don't you want to be my friend?" You wonder out loud, worried all of a sudden that he doesn't want to hang around with you any more.
"No, no, not that!" He exclaims, "I mean I want you to be more. I fuckin' love ya!"
You freeze. There's no way this is happening. Surely it must be the drink.
'Yeah', you tell yourself, 'he's drunk, that's all'. With a heavy heart, you accept that. You paint on a smile and try your best to remain light-hearted.
"You're drunk, John boy. That's why you're saying that," you snicker. John can't help but giggle as well.
"It's not. I fuckin' love ya," he repeats with a grin, "so can I have a kiss?" This time, you really mean it when you laugh.
"I'll tell you what. If you remember this in the morning and still want a kiss, then I'll give you one. How does that sound?"
"Alright then," he says, very confident and happy again, just like normal John, "I'll kiss ya in the morning."
"Only if you remember," you remind him.
"Oh, I fuckin' will!" His enthusiasm actually makes you wonder if this is real, but you don't want to get your hopes up.
"Alright then John boy. Sleep tight, and I'll see you in the morning," you push him down until he's lying on the bed, turning to leave when he gets comfortable.
"Night, Y/N! I'll kiss ya in the morning!"
You can't wipe the smile off your face as you leave his house and walk down the street. Maybe, just maybe, John actually meant it. Maybe it's not the alcohol talking, but his own heart. Still, there's no way to find out until tomorrow, something you eagerly await.