He knows he shouldn' be drinking. Not now, not ever. It's the only information he's gotten from his birth family: a predisposition for alcoholism. Still, he tips the drink back down his throat and carefully places the glass back on the counter silently.
"Another?"
He looks up at the pretty bartender, who's standing behind the surprisingly large draft taps, peeking his head between a golden IPA and blonde stout.
"Sure, could you put something a little fruity in it?"
"Oh no, was the first one too tart?" The brunette is already grabbing bottles, moving his muscular arms like an octopus as he starts slinging liquids into a shaker.
"No, not at all. I just know what I like." Warmth bubbles in the bottom of Leo's stomach as he looks up with dreary eyes, letting them first rest on the man's exposed neck and then down to his busy hands. He can see a blush creep up the bartender's neck and satisfaction creeps up his own ears, warming them from the inside out.
"Well I've got a lot of options for fruit. What's your favorite type?"
Leo drags a dark hand around the rim of his empty glass, pressing down on the straw. "Peaches, if I'm being honest."
The bartender grins suddenly and the red rushes up to fill his full cheeks, seeping up into his strawberry blonde hairline.
"I think I can do that."
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