scary-monsters

[scary-monsters]

🌿 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 [𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜] 🥃

▹NSFW (mdni) • 19.8k • diego brando/hot pants ▹content: modern au, angst, pining, bartender hot pants, sex worker diego, mostly sfw save for sexual language and a singular, barely explicit sex scene towards the end ▹synopsis: hp has been running a bar called the green tomb for a number of years since taking over for their brother who previously owned it. during this time, they meet a man named diego brando who begins dropping by every so often, offering minimal details about himself, disappearing for years at a time, and doing very little to leave the farthest corners of hp's mind where their curiosity of him feels insatiable. [ read on ao3 instead ]

▹ preview:

“So, you hate noise and crowds. Strange that you’d choose to spend your time in one of the more bustling corners of this city.” To this, Diego kept quiet for a moment besides a noncommittal hum. Perhaps he was deciding how best to answer this while still coming across as mysterious as he wanted to be. It was an act that HP wasn’t entirely buying; the hints of personality and humor that showed themselves when he’d interacted with them last week hadn’t been lost on them. “I go where the money is.” Diego finally offered with a curl of his lip. “City’s a dangerous place, though. Especially this late at night.” HP countered, and it was a genuine concern. They’d lived here their entire life, had seen and heard things they often wished they could forget entirely. They’d lost people very close to them, and even if Diego was mostly a stranger, that sort of fate wasn’t something they’d wish on anybody. Diego chuckled, low and throaty, before he took another slow sip of his drink. HP could feel his eyes on their back as they continued busying themself with the bar wall. “I can take care of myself. For all you know I’m a dangerous man.”

“Lucy Steel. We interviewed last week.”

The reminder wasn’t necessary; HP would’ve remembered that endearing smile and chipper personality even if they’d interviewed their newest hire over a year ago. Lucy had been the first of many candidates to drop by HP’s bar and express interest in a job after spotting a listing online, and truthfully, she’d been the only one to really impress them so far.

“I remember.” HP nodded, taking Lucy’s outstretched hand and noting the pristine quality of her rosey-pink painted nails. “I’m –”

“HP,” Lucy finished the statement, smile unfaltering until slight worry flashed across her features and she grimaced. “You run the place, and I probably shouldn’t interrupt you like that, huh?”

HP laughed, and it was genuine. Shaking their head and waving their other hand dismissively seemed to dissolve Lucy’s worry. “It’s fine. Let me show you around.”

The Green Tomb, initially opened several decades ago under much different management, was HP’s unplanned pride and joy. The true original meaning of its name was lost to time, and these days when people asked, HP would say it came from the combination of it existing at basement-level and being filled with a wide array of decorative fake plants. Now a simple dive bar, it had certainly seen brighter days in the past, but its clientele nowadays was so committed to it that HP found they actually preferred this admittedly rundown era. Much less stressful and high energy than the glory days when music artists would offer to play simply for the sake of exposure to new crowds of people.

Still, the walls of its interior were covered floor to ceiling with photos, posters, and other physical embodiments of moments from even before HP was born. As they showed Lucy around, the young woman’s eyes widened as if attempting to take all of it in, sometimes pausing during their walk to ask about certain people in photographs. Truthfully, HP didn’t know most of them beyond what the accompanying plaques said.

“Here’s the break room,” HP announced as they passed through a squeaky swinging door with a cracked window. A short hallway branched off into a small room to the right, a folding table and two chairs sitting at its center. “It’s not much, but on busier nights this feels like a sanctuary.”

Lucy nodded and effectively hid any judgement she was feeling, scanning the room with her eyes until they laid on HP again and she smiled. “My father used to work here, he said it was his first job. He was a waiter, back when they served food.”

HP didn’t ask his name; food service hadn’t existed at The Tomb for years. Even since before they had started working there as a bouncer, mostly out of courtesy to their nervous younger brother who had previously owned the place. Lucy’s endearment was sweet, definitely a weight off HP’s shoulders. The bar’s forgotten status often made it hard to keep employees around, seeing as many ran off to work at other more entertaining spots. Lucy, however, seemed a good candidate for longevity.

“Let me grab an apron for you.” HP darted to the corner of the break room, digging through a noisy filing cabinet before locating a fresh, still packaged, bar apron. “I make the drinks. You’ll be at the register handling money, but you never know when someone’s going to decide to make a mess.”

Lucy took the apron, immediately but carefully ripping the plastic and fully pulling it out. “What’s the policy on personalization?”

Even if it was a ‘no’, HP doubted they’d have been able to say anything but ‘yes’ to Lucy as she sheepishly smiled, hope present in her eyes.

“Go nuts.” HP shrugged. “Mine is covered in pins and stuff.”

“Yay!” She did a celebratory fist pump, and HP felt endeared all over again. “I hope you don’t mind pink.”

---

While the bar often saw a consistently low level of activity, weekends were the exception. Weeknights usually welcomed a whopping five people at most at any given time, all of which were so common that HP didn’t need to ask their orders and would have the drinks ready on the bar before they even sat down. Some of these people craved conversation, seeking the bar as their one social outlet in otherwise busy lives. Others came for the quiet, to be left alone to mull over their thoughts as they slowly sipped their drinks. HP was used to all of it, and as Lucy’s first day transitioned to the end of her first month, they felt confident in their new hire’s abilities to grow accustomed to it as well. In fact, Lucy had gotten so used to the regulars that she’d developed a habit of quietly letting HP know whenever someone completely new entered the quaint space. This, of course, rarely ever happened, but it was on one otherwise normal Saturday night that a fresh face pushed through the front door and brought Lucy’s elbow to gently nudge HP in the arm as they popped open the top of a glass beer bottle.

“Haven’t seen him before,” Lucy mumbled, pushing a fresh roll of receipt paper into the register as she kept stealing glances at the man wearing aviator sunglasses. “Do you know him?”

“No,” HP answered simply, redirecting their attention to a regular, a man named Wekapipo who sat at the very end of the bar and preferred being left alone besides offerings of fresh, ice cold bottles of beer. “Enjoy.”

Wekapipo gave a singular nod in thanks for the bottle and uncharacteristically lifted his head to look at the newcomer for a moment before deciding it was none of his business. The newcomer in question took a seat at the very center of the bar, demanding attention by clearing his throat as he shed his brown leather jacket and carefully folded it in his lap.

Lucy and HP exchanged a glance, the former smiling and shrugging as she continued busying herself with the register. The latter sighed and managed a polite smile as they took their place in front of the man and greeted him in their best customer service voice.

“Hey there, what can I get you?”

“Scotch.” He answered, tousling his shoulder-length flaxen mullet before resting his elbows on the bar and pointing a finger directly at HP. “On the rocks.”

Simple enough. HP set to work, quickly preparing a glass with ice and scotch. Nothing flashy, no nonsense, even if the man had never been here before HP wasn’t in the business of trying to impress people or get them to become regulars, they were going to give him exactly what everyone else got.

As soon as they slid the glass in front of him and repeated the order verbatim, the man eyed it carefully, leaning closer as if to smell it. Instead, he finally removed his sunglasses, folded them, and hooked one end into the collar of his shirt. Sharp, cerulean eyes bordered with full eyelashes stared at the drink, his thick, dark eyebrows furrowing in what looked like disgust. HP’s skin started to crawl a little; it’d been a while since someone problematic and rude had stepped foot through these doors, and they weren’t exactly looking forward to possibly having to kick someone out.

“Where’s the rocks?” The man suddenly asked, stare lifting from the glass to instead bore into HP’s face. His pillowy lips were slightly pouted. “I asked for a drink on the rocks.”

“You mean ice?” Baffled, HP folded their arms across their broad chest, hoping the man would observe the muscles present in them and feel less inclined to start a problem. “Surely you know what ‘on the rocks’ means.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the air, tension building as the only other people in the room nervously watched both of them. Lucy looked especially concerned, her lips parted in preparation of having to step in and diffuse the situation.

Suddenly, the man’s face cracked and his pout faltered to a humored smirk. His eyes stayed sharp, but his expression slightly softened as he allowed a laugh to spill from his lips. What started as a light chuckle continued building as he smacked an amused hand against the surface of the bar and glanced around, settling his eyes on Wekapipo, who avoided returning the action.

“It was a joke,” he admitted, turning to Lucy now, who nervously smiled. “Only a joke!” Eventually, with no reaction found elsewhere, he returned his gaze to HP and gave a toothy grin as he held both hands up in the air. “What did you think?”

Bewildered, HP kept their arms defensively crossed and lifted an eyebrow, allowing him to continue laughing to himself as if he’d just told the most incredible joke in the world. Only when his laughter died down did they answer his odd question, tone level and unamused.

“I think if you’re looking for the comedy club, you missed it by two blocks.”

When this blunt statement pulled an actual giggle out of Lucy, the stranger appeared offended, pausing with his drink in his hand and his mouth agape. HP didn’t stand down or apologize, maintaining a fixed gaze despite their concern all-but fading away. All things considered, he seemed harmless, just very strange.

“Right… well…” He finally shrugged and chose to stare at the wall of drinks instead of HP’s challenging expression. When he cut himself off with a sip of his drink, HP was at least relieved to see he enjoyed the taste. “Comedy club’s a bit too loud for my liking.”

“Are you from around here?” HP inquired, leaning back against the bar wall.

The stranger shook his head as he took another sip, letting the liquid swish around in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed and responded with minimal information. “No, I’m not.”

HP felt equal parts guilty and annoyed by the lack of context. Maybe he’d have offered more if they hadn’t immediately shut down his attempt at a joke, but they were perplexed by the way he’d strutted in here as if he’d known the place for years regardless. Self-aware enough to know when their defenses were acting up, HP relented and uncrossed their arms, extending one towards the man.

“HP. I run this place, luckily for you we like quiet around here.” HP took his hand when he extended it, giving him a firm handshake before releasing. “What brings you to the city?”

“Many things. Work, mostly.” He continued the mysterious act, swirling around the scotch in his glass and taking a look around the room. “I’m between meetings right now, just needed a place to relax.”

“Meetings?” Lucy piped up, looking caught in the act, as if listening in to their conversation was against the rules. “It’s, like… midnight…”

HP had shared the sentiment, but kept it to themselves. Regardless, they turned to the stranger again and eyed him curiously. One thing about Lucy was she was great at saying the quiet parts out loud, and her demeanor made it difficult for most to be upset with her for her honesty.

A smirk crawled across the man’s lips, his eyes narrowed as he took a longer sip this time, taking his time before responding. “Yes, meetings. I have another in an hour.” He paused, realizing his answer wasn’t doing enough to quell their interest. “I like to keep my work private.”

“That’s fine,” HP insisted, gesturing towards his quickly emptying glass. “I’m interested in nothing except whether or not you’d like another. And Lucy,” they continued, pointing to their coworker with their other hand, “is only interested in you paying before you walk out that door.”

Lucy grinned and waved, making the stranger’s expression soften again. “I’ll take another,” he confirmed, and as HP prepared a second glass for him he finally offered his name, “put it under Brando. Diego Brando.”

“You got it, Mr. Brando.” Lucy sing-songed, pulling a pad of paper from her apron and happily filling out a sheet for him.

Satisfied with how they’d dealt with the newcomer, HP shifted their attention to Wekapipo, who waved off the offer for another drink and quickly downed what was left of the one he had. HP left him alone for the remainder of his stay, and when he departed he made sure to drop by Lucy’s register, pay, and shove a tip into the jar that flanked it.

Now left with even less company, HP busied themselves with cleaning glassware, devoting at least a fraction of their attention to the conversation unfolding between Lucy and Diego. The former was trying to pry more information out of him, but he’d instead started talking about his hometown of Manchester, back in the UK. No personal details, just random facts that had nothing to do with him but successfully diverted Lucy’s attention to something besides his job.

“It’s a shame, actually, because the ‘man’ in Manchester was originally ‘mam’. As in mammary.”

“Mammary?” Lucy repeated, leaning over the bar and listening intently. “Like –”

“Breasts, yes.” Diego nodded. “See, Manchester’s origins trace back to a Roman fort that was called Mamucium, and do you know why they called it this?”

“I assume men had something to do with it.” HP mumbled simply, swiping a rag against the surface of a wine glass.

Diego didn’t confirm or deny, but he eyed HP with slight chagrin before redirecting his attention to Lucy again. “It was called Mamucium because the hills on which it was built resembled breasts.” When Lucy looked at him with vague disgust he shrugged. “According to the Romans. It’s just a little trivia, that’s all.”

“Thanks for the trivia, Diego Brando from Boobsville.” HP deadpanned again, but this time allowed a smile to cross their face as they gently placed the clean wine glass to the side.

Diego scoffed at that, but a slight blush spread across his freckled cheeks as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. It was clear he preferred being the funniest person in the room, so Lucy did her best this time to bite back the laugh caused from HP’s comment.

“Do you have a bathroom?” Diego eventually asked after he’d finished his story, sliding off his stool as he checked the time on his phone.

“Down that hall,” HP confirmed, pointing towards the same swinging door that led to the breakroom.

Just as quickly as HP had answered, Diego disappeared through the door, and the room became even more silent without his thick accent rattling off fun facts about his hometown.

“He’s funny,” Lucy observed, turning her whole body to face HP and watching them as if waiting for their thoughts on the matter. When HP simply hummed in response, Lucy twirled a pen between her fingers and lowered her voice, leaning closer. “I think he likes you.”

To that, HP openly laughed and nearly dropped the shot glass in their hands. “I think he has a superiority complex, and people like that rub me the wrong way.”

“C’mon, we barely know the guy,” Lucy teased, “and besides, he kept looking at you while he was talking. Like he wanted your approval or something.”

“Yes, because he wants to be the center of attention,” HP objected. “Men like him are a dime a dozen, Lucy. Work here long enough and you’ll quickly realize that.”

“If you insist.” Lucy dramatically sighed, but wasn’t deterred or put off by HP’s words. “But I’ll bet he shows up again sometime.”

Whether he would or not meant nothing to HP. He was just another customer, someone to fill a seat and pay a tab, and that was fine as long as he could act right. There’d been a few times in the past where newcomers dropped in once and never showed up again, likely because they’d found other bars in the area that offered more in terms of entertainment. The Green Tomb wasn’t meant to be a hot social spot, it simply existed for the sake of those who felt it was home for one reason or another.

Diego reentered the room with his shirt unbuttoned to his abdomen and his hair freshly tousled, donning his sunglasses again as he quickly headed for the door.

“Your tab!” Lucy called out just before he reached the front, waving the piece of paper that held his name in the air.

Diego paused, turned to look at Lucy and lowered his sunglasses with one finger, but didn’t immediately answer. He glanced at HP, who crossed their arms threateningly again, and that eased an answer out of him.

“I’ll be back. Add a fee if you must, but I have to run.” He seemed to be bracing himself for a verbal attack from HP’s direction, but he adjusted his shirt collar more to expose his prominent collar bone and winked. “Important business.”

With that, he was out the door, and HP was indeed considering adding a hefty fee to his tab.

---

It was a week before the elusive Brando waltzed back into The Green Tomb again, long enough that HP had nearly forgotten about his previous failure to pay his tab and had shrugged it off as a small loss. It certainly wasn’t the first time that someone had promised to pay at a later time and then never returned, despite their words. Two glasses of scotch was nothing in the long run, something that barely made a difference financially for the bar, so it was easy for them to let it go.

Lucy, however, had not forgotten, and had folded the piece of paper up into her apron with a dedication to make Diego pay the very second he decided to return. It became habitual for her to stare at the front door as soon as she heard movement outside, her hand shoved into her pocket, ready to present the bill before Diego could even begin to open his mouth. Some of the regulars expressed that it was strange to see Lucy so readily combative, but the second she recognized someone as anyone except Diego Brando, her demeanor returned to its sunny disposition.

Funnily enough, and luckily for him, on the Tuesday night that Diego dropped back in, Lucy happened to be on her break. The entire situation felt so hilariously timed that HP couldn’t help but chuckle as soon as Diego’s ass landed in the same stool he’d been in a week ago.

“What?” He inquired, removing his sunglasses, just as he had before, and setting them delicately on the bar in front of him. “Something funny?”

“Oh, not yet, but it’s about to be.” HP smirked, glanced towards the swinging door to the break room and then back at Diego. “Scotch?”

Diego nodded, his expression remaining curious and a little skeptical. The subject of his previously unpaid tab stayed floating around in the air between them, not yet spoken about despite how badly HP wanted to call him out on it. Lucy had been so patient, so confident in his return, that they felt it was her who deserved the satisfaction of delivering that blow.

HP prepared his drink just as they had previously, setting it in front of him and leaning against the bar wall. The place had been empty before his arrival, leaving them not much to attend to otherwise.

“More meetings tonight?” HP asked, feigning interest.

“Later, yes,” Diego confirmed, sipping at his drink. He looked around the room, appearing unimpressed and underwhelmed. “Where is everyone?”

“We don’t get much traffic on weeknights,” HP explained. “Especially Tuesdays, you picked our lightest night, actually.”

“Well –”

Suddenly, the swinging door slammed open, its hinges creaking loudly as its surface slapped against the wood paneled wall and Lucy stormed out despite still having twenty minutes of her break left. The action made Diego jump, his head whipping around to face the source of the noise with wide, slightly fearful eyes.

“I knew I heard your voice,” she said, pointing at Diego with one hand and digging through her apron pocket with the other. “Are you going to explain yourself?”

HP fought to control their laughter, tucking their lower lip between their teeth. It was one of those moments where they wished a polaroid camera would manifest in their hands so they could take a photo of the interaction unfolding in front of them and paste it to the wall as a permanent memory. Lucy, with one hand on her hip and the other extended out towards the source of her irritation, a slightly crumpled piece of paper held tightly between her fingers. Diego, a nearly full glass of scotch in his hand, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open as if having no clue what this could be about. Yes, it was a blessing to run a bar that rarely saw conflict within its walls, but HP had to admit it was a little exhilarating when things did happen.

“Are you going to control your employee?” Diego asked, slowly turning to face HP with a sneer.

“Absolutely not. Technically she’s off the clock right now, actually.” The tacked on explanation was truthfully irrelevant. Lucy’s uncharacteristic outburst was warranted, and funny.

“Are you going to man up and pay your tab?” Lucy snapped, smacking the paper on the bar in front of Diego and tapping its surface with one manicured finger. Diego’s name was written on it in perfect cursive, a tiny heart dotting the ‘i’. “You owe us eighteen dollars! Plus whatever late fee HP rightfully adds on.”

The man stared at Lucy for several seconds, looking as though the mere mention of his previous failure was a huge detriment to his ability to enjoy his drink. After a singular, slowly savored sip, he broke eye contact and looked down at the tab, watching as Lucy scribbled on an additional order of scotch.

“Did I not say that I’d come back?” Diego grumbled, gently setting his glass down and lifting his eyes to look at HP. “Here I am. As I said before, add a fee if you must.”

Generally such a blasé attitude regarding spending money would rub HP the wrong way, but there was something charming about Diego that they couldn’t quite put their finger on yet. As Lucy watched HP expectantly, they drummed their fingers across the shelf behind them, mulling over the option of whether or not to charge Diego for his wrongdoing.

“We’ll see how I feel when you leave,” HP finally answered. “Entertain us enough and maybe I’ll let you off the hook.”

To that, Lucy said nothing, but disappointment was evident in her expression. A wordless exchange played out between her and HP, slight guilt tugging at the corners of her mouth as she retreated to the backroom again. The sound of the swinging door’s squeaky hinges was the only thing filling the air as Diego studied his tab and HP’s eyes roamed across the annoyed jut of his impressive jawline with equal intensity.

“Nine dollars seems quite expensive for a drink,” Diego observed out loud in a hushed tone, and the part of HP’s brain that had been admiring his features immediately recoiled.

“Not in this city.” They returned to the bar wall, mindlessly organizing bottles in order to keep their hands busy. “I assume you don’t frequent other bars around here.”

“They’re too crowded,” Diego confirmed, offering as little information as he had last time.

HP dug through their memory banks as they discarded a whiskey bottle with less than a sip’s worth of liquid left in it. “So, you hate noise and crowds. Strange that you’d choose to spend your time in one of the more bustling corners of this city.”

To this, Diego kept quiet for a moment besides a noncommittal hum. Perhaps he was deciding how best to answer this while still coming across as mysterious as he wanted to be. It was an act that HP wasn’t entirely buying; the hints of personality and humor that showed themselves when he’d interacted with them and Lucy last week hadn’t been lost on them.

“I go where the money is.” Diego finally offered with a curl of his lip.

Part of HP wanted to ask Diego outright what it was exactly that he did for work, but another part of them was starting to understand even without his explanation. This was a beautiful man with angelic looks and an accent that could charm the pants off anybody, and HP certainly wasn’t judging him for using his traits to his advantage. Wealthy people did business in this part of the city, so he wasn’t wrong.

“City’s a dangerous place, though. Especially this late at night.” HP countered, and it was a genuine concern. They’d lived here their entire life, had seen and heard things they often wished they could forget entirely. They’d lost people very close to them, and even if Diego was mostly a stranger, that sort of fate wasn’t something they’d wish on anybody.

Diego chuckled, low and throaty, before he took another slow sip of his drink. HP could feel his eyes on their back as they continued busying themself with the wall.

“I can take care of myself. For all you know I’m a dangerous man.”

A slight chill rolled up HP’s spine and they almost feared Diego would be able to sense it. It was the perfect time for Lucy to reemerge from the swinging door, apron secure around her waist and a pen tucked behind her ear.

“Good evening, Mr. Brando, I hope you won’t be leaving us so quickly this time.” Lucy said passively as she made her way to her spot at the register, tone noticeably lighter and perkier than her previous outburst.

HP wasn’t looking at him, but they could sense the befuddled expression on Diego’s face as he failed to make a coherent response, and it made them laugh.

---

While HP had somewhat considered banning Diego outright if he’d failed to pay his tab the second time he’d visited, part of them wondered if they’d have really been able to kick him out when it came down to it. Thankfully, he did pay, and he’d rolled his eyes at Lucy’s overplayed kindness, which saved HP from having to bring down the hammer.

There was something about him that kept HP strangely intrigued, almost as if they’d find reasons to forgive an unpaid tab as long as he continued to be beautiful, bizarre and sharp-tongued as they’d come to expect. Diego wasn’t exactly likable. Not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway. Often his words would leave a bad taste in HP’s mouth, or make Lucy visibly concerned or confused, and these reasons alone should’ve been enough for HP to hope he’d stop dropping by altogether.

And yet, Diego made the bar his home every so often. The day of the week was always different, context of his life and work remained locked away, but nevertheless he’d occasionally drop by for a scotch and some banter. Key parts of his personality and interests became more evident, bleeding into surface-level conversations about the weather or broad happenings around the city.

Diego was an animal lover, showing a clear preference for horses and reptiles, one of those people who valued the lives of creatures over human beings, which somehow came across as both endearing and nihilistic. While he didn’t outright put a label on his sexuality, he wasn’t shy about finding people attractive, regardless of gender. Truthfully, it was people’s money that meant most to him, but this was not surprising in the slightest to HP. Also quite vain, he frequently referred to the clothes he was wearing by the name of their designer, not by their type of garment. Wealth and status were important to him, but he still seemed quite reserved and keen on keeping a low profile. Diego had a strange relationship with his desire for attention; it was something he wanted complete control over, as if he skillfully pulled every string in any conversation to direct it where he saw fit.

These were all details HP had come to learn about Diego over the course of nearly a year, over almost weekly visits that played out mostly the same, but during which they were able to slowly pick away at the shell encasing Diego Brando’s being. It became clear that his past and his work were topics that were off limits, a lesson Lucy had unfortunately been the one to make clear sometime around his sixth month of frequenting the bar.

Diego had shown up looking particularly miffed, his mouth pulled into a taut frown and his eyes avoiding both Lucy and HP as he sat down. HP had learned to prepare his drink the moment he’d stepped foot in the door, and carefully eased the glass of scotch towards him without a word.

“Everything okay?” Lucy had asked, eyeing Diego nervously as he removed his sunglasses.

“Fine,” was the answer he gave, but not the one he was exuding. When Lucy didn’t appear to take this as an answer, he waved a hand dismissively and tacked on, “it’s personal. Family.”

This should have been the ultimate sign for both HP and Lucy to leave him alone for the night, unless he was the one to open a conversation. Lucy, however, had also taken a liking to Diego over the course of his visits, mostly for his cheesy jokes, and clearly didn’t like seeing this unpleasant side of him. Even as another patron approached the register to pay for his tab, she kept her concerned eyes locked on Diego.

“Do you… need to talk about it?”

“Lucy, don’t –” HP started.

“I mean, when I get into an argument with my father it usually helps to talk to someone else and get an outside perspective, so –”

“Oh please.” Diego interrupted, his voice sharp and cutting as he smirked. Despite the expression shift, the rage in his eyes didn’t leave. “If I’d like sanctimonious advice from a dense little thing I’ll be sure to let you know. I assure you my problems are far larger than some petty argument.”

“Woah,” HP jumped in as soon as he quit talking long enough to take a drink, folding their arms over their chest and approaching Diego with a threatening look, “you don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Lucy, who’d recoiled slightly, made a subtle attempt at shrugging off the insult, but it was clear Diego’s words had cut deep.

“I say what I want,” Diego retorted, uncharacteristically unbothered by HP’s attempt to rattle him. His sharp eyes only left theirs when he glanced back over at the man waiting to pay his tab and scoffed. “Quit worrying about me and do your job.”

“Out.” HP demanded without thinking, heart pounding heavily enough they could feel it in their throat. If there was one thing they had no tolerance for, it was disrespect towards anyone they worked with, but especially Lucy. “You need to leave.”

Diego’s eyes darted back over to HP, eerily baleful despite all the other times he’d slightly recoiled at the bar owner’s words. This time, he was not backing down, which made it more evidently clear that poking around in his personal business awakened something horrifyingly combative in him.

“I’ll be finishing my drink first.” Diego stated, taking another careful sip and setting the glass down as he took his time swallowing.

The mood in the bar had shifted to something uncomfortable as Lucy’s tapping at the register became noticeably more aggressive and her tone more hushed. With the transaction completed, she gently stepped past HP and muttered a quick, “I’m taking my break,” before retreating behind the swinging door.

As soon as the door had stuttered to a halt, Diego’s lips had just barely parted to potentially make his situation worse, or perhaps he was simply about to take another drink. Either way, HP cut him off abruptly.

“Do you always snap at people like that when they’re trying to help?”

Whatever words had been on the tip of Diego’s tongue seemed to dissolve in his mouth as he instead wet his lips and tapped a finger against the side of his glass of scotch. It would’ve been satisfying if he appeared guilty, but his expression was smug and unbothered, as if he’d easily repeat the same social interaction all over again with no qualms at all.

“Assuming I need help of any kind is patronizing.”

HP didn’t want to push the issue more, part of them wished he’d just leave without another word, or that they’d find the gumption to pick him up the collar of his shirt and toss him out the front door. There were two strikes against him at this point; the initial refusal to pay his tab and now the outright disrespect towards Lucy, but deep down HP worried there wasn’t any sort of behavior he could exhibit that would make them demand he leave. And that was incredibly frustrating.

“Honestly, Diego,” HP eventually sighed and gave their head an irritated shake, “it’s difficult to assume otherwise when you act the way you do. Slinking around all mysterious and doing shady work late at night in a dangerous city all while refusing to –”

Diego slammed his now empty glass on the bar, shoved a hand into his pocket and tossed a slightly crumpled fifty dollar bill next to it. Without another word, he briskly walked towards the door with his head still held high and stepped out into the night.

The remainder of HP’s digs died in their throat, figuring that was for the best. Diego didn’t seem capable of hearing or considering them. With any luck, HP thought, this would be the last time they’d have to see him.

Of course, fate had other ideas.

---

General consensus at the bar, though largely not spoken outright, was that Diego’s insult towards Lucy marked the final time he’d step foot into The Green Tomb. Of course, as soon as he’d left, HP had made sure to check on their coworker, who insisted she was fine and able to shrug it off entirely. After all, rude customers weren’t uncommon, Lucy had unfortunately been the victim of many unkind statements, but Diego’s had felt far more personal and direct. Almost as if he’d had the words tucked away in his mind specifically for Lucy herself in any event that she’d piss him off. It led HP to wonder if he’d have personalized insults for everyone, including them, and it was hard to ignore the part of themself that wished he’d come in and prove them right. It was unclear whether that was a desire to finally have a good excuse to ban him from ever returning, or something much more crude lying dormant in their gut.

Regardless, after three months of no Diego, it was assumed that he’d had his fill of this particular bar and had simply found another to harass with his presence. HP had to give themself some credit; they’d tried very hard to forget he existed, fought to clear their memory of the sound of his laugh and the way his lip curled when he said something witty. But, it was obvious to them that the way they scanned the streets below from the balcony of their apartment after returning home every night was clearly in an attempt to, at the very least, confirm he was alive.

Somehow, even while assuming he’d never come back, HP always knew their paths were supposed to line up again. It was a deep-seated feeling they’d seldom had with other people, but it was impossible to deny the pull they experienced whenever in his presence, almost as if the universe were trying to tell them that he was significant to their story, that they should pay attention, but never providing a reason why.

It was the middle of summer when Lucy decided to take a much needed week-long vacation away from the city. Seven whole days at a resort with a couple of friends and, despite Lucy telling HP that they could call her if anything came up, a promise that she’d have the fortune of forgetting The Green Tomb existed for as long as she was away. At this point the Diego situation was just one of many minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of Lucy’s time at the bar, but it was evident she still craved a getaway from the admittedly claustrophobic and dark environment.

Diego’s timing was impeccable, given that he finally decided to return while Lucy was several hundred miles away, probably relaxing in the sun without a care in the world. Not that he’d had an apology prepared, that felt out of the realm of possibility, but even if by accident it was polite of him to come back when she wasn’t around to remember he existed.

It was much later than normal, the bar was empty aside from HP mindlessly wiping down the counters and humming to the drone of classic rock over the old speaker system. Closing time was in two hours and not a soul had been inside for the last half hour. Part of them considered locking up early for the night, briefly fantasizing about sitting on their balcony with a freshly rolled joint before the door swung open and completely shattered their hopes.

Shattered hopes shifted to genuine shock as they turned to utter a greeting and felt their throat close at the sight of blonde hair and orange-tinted aviators.

“Diego,” they instead mumbled, mostly to themself as if to verbally confirm that it was, in fact, him, of all the people who could possibly walk inside at this time of night.

The man, of course, remained consistent by taking a seat on the same stool at the center of the bar, carefully removing his sunglasses and tousling his hair after hooking one end into his shirt collar. Still donning sunglasses at two in the morning, still refraining from saying ‘hello’, still impeccably dressed; everything was the same, leading HP to pour him a scotch over ice and avoid his eyes as they slid it towards him.

Wordlessly, Diego lifted the glass to his lips and drank, showcasing one of the only differences in his mannerisms so far. Not a slow sip, but a full gulp that made his adam’s apple noticeably bob and left his glass nearly empty as he set it back down.

“Another?” HP delicately asked, trying not to let any of their emotions show on their face. Not that they really knew what exactly they were feeling.

Diego nodded, letting the liquid settle in his body for a moment before downing the rest and sliding the glass back over to HP. Just as quickly, it was refilled, but this time he refrained from immediately indulging. Diego’s cheeks were tinged pink, his eyes appearing distant and much less focused. The sharpness of his gaze was always one of the features HP remembered most clearly, but this was yet another subtle difference from their last interaction.

“Where have you been?” It was the only question HP could think to ask, despite confusion clouding every inch of their mind. Was he okay? Did something happen? Did whatever “family” business he’d hinted at ages ago get resolved? They chose to voice none of those, understanding that Diego was much like a wild animal in this moment, likely prone to fleeing if he felt threatened.

“Working,” Diego answered simply, though his tone wasn’t nearly as cutting as HP expected. There was an ease to him, despite his demeanor seeming more anxious.

“Still in the city?” HP leaned against the bar, though maintained a distance.

Diego appeared to mull over this question for a moment, fixing his eyes on the wall of alcohol bottles and running a fingertip around the rim of his glass. “Somewhat.”

It was nothing short of infuriating the way Diego would avoid answering questions as if whatever he was doing was something criminal. HP had nothing against sex workers, as long as Diego was being responsible and taking his safety seriously that was all that mattered to them. His current demeanor, however, could mean anything, and something just didn’t feel right.

I’ve been worried about you. It was a statement weighing at the tip of their tongue, but they kept it locked behind their lips, knowing it was something that would almost certainly freak the man out. He’d made a point to remain as impersonal as possible, clearly for reasons HP wasn’t fully aware of but could still respect.

After a brief moment of silence, Diego slipped his wallet out from his pocket and fished inside for something folded up and slightly tattered at the corners. He took another glance around the room, as if to confirm it really was just them, and then he held the object, still folded, out towards HP.

“What’s this?” They asked, not immediately taking hold of it but instead raising an eyebrow curiously at him.

“Give it a look, that’s all.” He insisted, waving it around in his hand as if to encourage a sense of urgency.

HP finally took it, unfolding an old photo that appeared to be torn off a larger one. In it was a man in a suit, staring at the camera as he stood next to someone else. Whoever the other person was could only be left up to the imagination, given the placement of the tear. The man, however, was fair skinned, sporting a shaved head and a combo of dark sideburns and goatee. Puzzled, HP studied the image for several seconds, having no idea why Diego would be presenting them with it, especially with such a serious attitude.

“I don’t… understand.” They finally said, shaking their head and carefully handing the photo back to Diego. “Who is that?”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Diego promptly folded it up and slid it back into his wallet, expression falling into visible disappointment. “Forget what I just showed you.”

“Wh–” HP stopped themself, narrowing their eyes and sighing with evident irritation. “Diego, what is going on?” When he offered nothing and appeared to not even process the question, HP continued. “You snap at my employee, disappear for months, suddenly come back somehow even more secretive than before, then want me to look at some random picture of – what, a client or something?”

“He’s not a client.” Diego immediately snapped, that same defensive tone returning as disgust filled his expression. “Who he is doesn’t matter. I just needed to know if you’d seen him before.”

“I haven’t.” HP reiterated, exasperated at this point. “I assume you’re not going to tell me why you’re looking for him.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Diego mumbled, taking a slow sip of his drink and swallowing.

“A lot of things don’t concern me but people tell me them anyway.” HP stood up straight, folding their arms over their chest. “A bar is something like a confessional in that way.”

“A confessional?” Diego echoed, actually looking at HP this time, thick eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

“Bartenders hear a lot of things people wouldn’t even tell their closest friends.” They paused, trying to decide what words would best persuade Diego into opening up for once in his life. “Things I never repeat to another person, things I will take to my grave, regardless of severity.”

“You fancy yourself a priest, then?” Diego sneered, and HP was at least grateful for a hint of humor in his voice.

“No,” HP scoffed, rolling their eyes. They set to busying their hands with cleaning glassware again. “I’m afraid I don’t meet the criteria for a role so close to God.”

“Why’s that?” Diego inquired, and HP could feel his cool blue eyes digging into the side of their face. “You don’t strike me as horribly sinful.”

If only you knew. HP thought, and was painfully aware that Diego could see the way they nervously tried to swallow the lump in their throat.

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair for you to be able to ask personal questions like that when you’ve told me nothing about yourself despite coming here for months.” Finally steeling themself and looking up, HP laid a rag on the top of the bar and made firm eye contact with their guest.

To this, Diego seemingly couldn’t find a good rebuttal. He took a sip of his drink and maintained the stare, slowly blinking as he swallowed. “Fair enough.” Diego paused, and while it was likely only a few seconds, it felt like an eternity played out between their shared gaze. “What would you like to know?”

That was a question HP hadn’t expected, and they certainly didn’t have a prepared answer despite wanting to know a thousand things about him. Perhaps it was best to start simple, innocently, as if the two were a couple of children on a playground just trying to make friends.

“Favorite color.”

Diego narrowed his eyes and allowed a faint smirk to tug at his lips. “Really?”

“Or I could ask you about the intricacies of how you get wealthy men to pay you for sex, it’s up to you.”

“That might be a more interesting conversation.” Diego’s cheeky expression didn’t falter; of course he was smart enough to know HP had caught on to his line of work. But HP was firm in the way they stood there and didn’t confirm or deny if the suggested topic change was preferable, so he continued with the former. “My favorite color is turquoise.”

“Why?”

Diego was quiet, eyeing HP as if they were asking him a deeply personal question. Based on his answer, made after several empty seconds and the aversion of his stare, maybe it was.

“My mother often wore it. When I see it, it reminds me of her.”

HP noted the choice of his words. Past tense. A wave of sympathy washed through them, but they said nothing to point it out.

“Now, HP, what is your favorite color?” Diego asked in return, seeming to shrug off the vulnerability as if it was rain on a coat of armor.

“Emerald green.” The answer came as easily as ever, but HP knew to prepare themselves for Diego’s reply.

“And why’s that?” There was something in Diego’s eyes that told HP he was less interested in the surface level of their choice, something in them seemed curious in a dark sort of way.

“Emerald green reminds me of beetles. Y’know, the shiny ones.” That was an honest answer, though devoid of additional, very important, context which remained sealed away in HP’s thoughts. The ones my brother used to catch. Emerald green reminds me of the way his face lit up with excitement when we were kids. I’d give anything to see it again.

“I see,” Diego replied simply, searching HP’s face. They felt as if they were in a forest trying to remain low and Diego was a wild bear weighing his options. Luckily for HP, he didn’t seem that hungry. “So what else do you want to know?”

“What brought you to this city? You said you weren’t from here.” This was a shot in the dark, and it had the potential to ruin this conversation, but HP bit the bullet and leaned over the counter towards their guest.

“Work.” Diego said plainly, but when HP didn’t look satisfied with that answer he shrugged and also leaned in. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who? The guy in the picture?”

Silence again. And that was the only answer HP needed, besides the way Diego’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. They were close enough to see every little twitch of his pupils, every flare of his nostrils.

“Why? Who is he?” The question was a whisper, even though there was nobody else in the building besides the two of them.

“I can’t tell you.” Diego firmly answered, but his tone was the least combative it had been all night.

HP held their stare, carefully breathing through their nose and wondering if Diego could feel the little puffs of air within the small space between them. From this distance, they could smell his cologne; airy, citrusy, with a hint of vanilla –

When HP’s phone alarm went off in their pocket it sounded much louder than it actually was, causing both them and Diego to jump. They’d been so sealed into the moment they hadn’t realized how late it was.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Diego grumbled, blinking several times and glancing with offense at the phone HP now held in their hand.

“Closing time.” HP sighed, tossing the thing onto the counter as they headed for the register. “I didn’t realize what time it was. The drink is on me tonight.”

Diego quickly downed what remained of his scotch, gently placing the empty glass back on the counter before sliding off his seat. “Right, I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

“Wait,” HP slammed a hand on the counter adjacent to where Diego stood. The action was more aggressive than they’d intended, and one they hadn’t even planned on making. Something about allowing Diego to slip into the night without another word felt completely and utterly wrong. It was all impulse, as were the words that quietly followed. “Stay for a little bit.”

Diego’s quizzical eyes traveled the expanse of the room as he pursed his lips, confused.

“Not here.” HP continued as they fiddled with the register and mindlessly counted money. “I live in the apartment above the bar.”

“I’m afraid I’m not offering any services tonight, HP.” Diego chuckled.

“That’s not why I’m asking,” HP scoffed and shook their head. Why were they asking?

“What for, then?” Diego lifted an eyebrow. At least he wasn’t outright saying ‘no’.

“To talk more?” HP finished closing the register and threw their hands up in the air. “I have weed?”

The way he seemed to ponder the offer was more performative than anything, but when he finally confirmed, Diego smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind a smoke.”

---

Each of their footsteps on the rickety and rusted outdoor stairwell seemed to echo loudly into the early morning air. Maybe it was ridiculous to invite Diego over so early in the morning, but the sun wasn’t quite ready to begin lifting out of the sky, so HP chose to ignore whatever part of them might have opted for more critical thought. The unit above The Green Tomb had existed for almost as long as the bar itself, though it had served as more storage than anything during the time HP’s brother had run the place. After HP had taken over, they’d chosen to forgo the initial commute and make getting to and from work a much simpler process. Whether or not having no distance from their workplace was a good idea or not was a question they often left unanswered.

Once they reached the top, HP fished their keys out of their jacket pocket and effortlessly slid one into the locked door, preparing themselves for any judgement Diego might offer at the state of their living quarters as soon as they swung it open. It wasn’t messy by any means, but it was simple. The majority of HP’s funds went into keeping the bar open, so decorating and cultivating their home wasn’t a priority these days.

Diego followed HP inside, keeping his mouth shut regardless of whatever he was thinking of the dimly lit studio apartment. Maybe he was still shocked into silence by what was currently happening. It did feel really odd, but HP led him straight towards the sliding balcony door, ushering him outside before darting to their nightstand and digging out a case of pre-rolled joints and a lighter.

By the time HP returned to the balcony, Diego had already made himself at home on one of the two cheap plastic chairs that flanked a matching accent table. HP joined him on the remaining chair, and from down the street a bus honked, breaking the otherwise early morning quiet.

Diego silently watched HP flip open the case they’d brought outside; they grabbed a joint for themselves, placing it gently between their lips before extending the other to Diego, who lifted a hand in polite dismissal.

“I thought you smoked?” HP asked, still holding the joint out to him despite his refusal.

“Oh, I do, but nothing I’m not completely familiar with,” he explained, “I can’t have you drugging me.” The second half of that sentence was said with humor, but there was still a hint of honesty in his eyes.

“Fine.” HP retracted the offer, placing it back into its case and instead gesturing towards the one between their lips. “We can share.”

“Wonderful.” Diego grinned, leaning back in his seat and watching closely as HP lit the joint and took an eager puff. “Now why did you invite me up here?”

HP focused on the immediate rush of relief before carefully extending their joint to Diego. “I wasn’t done asking questions.”

“Hmm,” Diego hummed, plucking it from out of HP’s hand and mirroring their previous action. When he exhaled, smoke peeked into HP’s peripheral vision as they stared off into the city sky. “Right. So what else are you dying to know?”

After another blissful puff, HP set the joint into the ashtray on the table between them and Diego, pondering the question. Over the course of being so curious for so long, you’d think they would’ve compiled a list of questions to ask the elusive Diego Brando, but it was as if their mind went blank whenever he actually appeared, ready and willing to offer a hint of vulnerability.

“Tell me about your favorite client.”

“Ah, so now you’d like to inquire about my sexual endeavors.” Diego laughed, then thought for a moment, fingers toying with the bridge of the sunglasses still hooked onto his shirt collar. “Well, he wasn’t supposed to be a client, but there was a man I… serviced. And it was so good that I didn’t even ask him to pay me. He just did anyway.”

HP turned to look at him. “What do you mean by ‘good’?”

“What are you, some kind of pervert?” Diego laughed again, this time looking a little taken aback. “I see what you meant when you said you don’t meet the criteria for a position close to God.”

Likely meant as a joke, but the sting that left in HP’s heart was hard to ignore. It wasn’t his fault, he had no idea what HP’s past looked like, so they tried their best to hide the disdain for those words from their face.

“No, I’m just… trying to get to know you. I guess.” HP fought for the right explanation, turning away from Diego again and choosing to study the dark of the night sky above them. “And unfortunately I don’t know much besides the sex work.”

Diego’s next chuckle was noticeably quieter. He reached for the joint, took another puff, then set it back down. As he hummed in thought, HP searched their brain for another potential topic.

“He was a cop. He’d gotten a call for my hotel room, not sure why. Probably a noise complaint.” Diego launched into a more detailed story, also staring into the sky. “Large man, stocky, muttonchops. He resembled a cowboy, definitely didn’t look like a city boy, and he had the country accent as well. I begged him to just leave, but he insisted on doing a search. Of course he found nothing, I don’t carry drugs or weapons on me. And oh, when he got so apologetic and overly polite over finding nothing and ‘wasting my time’… well, I couldn’t help but seduce him. After all, he’d been lifting furniture with his big arms the whole time and all I could think about was him lifting me instead. So I cancelled my next appointment and sucked the gentlemanly cop off instead.”

“Jesus,” HP mumbled, a bit thrown off by how obscene Diego’s words were.

“What? You asked.” Diego shrugged, then turned in his seat to fully face HP, draping his arms over the armrest of his chair. “Now, tell me something about yourself. What I just shared was quite personal.”

He wasn’t wrong. HP might’ve preferred a personal story with less sexual theming, but he was making an effort to be more open and it was impossible to deny that fact.

“What do you want to know?” The words felt heavy with possibility as soon as they left HP’s mouth.

“How long have you owned The Green Tomb? You don’t strike me as the type of person who grows up longing to run a dive bar.”

“Five years. I used to work as a bouncer, but I inherited ownership.” HP scratched mindlessly with one finger against the plastic surface of their chair, wondering if it was the small hit of weed that made them feel more open. “From my brother.”

“Your brother?” Diego repeated, tilting his head curiously. “Where is he?”

HP’s heart pounded in their chest. Much like Diego, HP tried to keep family matters out of conversations. While Diego’s reasons felt rooted in rage, HP’s were in grief.

“He’s dead.”

Diego seemed to recoil a little at that; not violently, but with at least a hint of regret. He sat up straight again, eyeing HP carefully and seeming to choose his words a little more carefully.

“What happened?” If his tone had been any louder or any more aggressive, HP might have tossed him off the balcony and told him to never come back. But there was something soft, uncharacteristically so, in his tone that made HP feel… safe.

“I…” HP started, guilt sealing their throat before they could say anything else. When they wordlessly shook their head, Diego gave a single nod. Quiet settled between them again, this time tinged with a mix of discomfort and understanding.

“Should I talk more about my sex life?” Diego finally asked, a whisper that brought forth a laugh from HP’s previously blocked throat.

“No, that’s okay.” HP took another hit.

It was quiet again, and that was okay. HP wasn’t really sure what this entire exchange was. It felt strange, but it also felt somewhat relaxing. Just as the sky began to show faint hints of orangey-blue, Diego’s voice cut through the silence.

“Can I tell you something crazy? I promise it’s not a horribly sexual story.”

“Of course.”

“One of your regulars, Wekapipo, I believe?” He paused, only continuing with HP gave a nod to show they were following. “Well… he was a client of mine. Once.” Diego turned to look at HP, a sly smile curling his lips as he held up one finger.

“You’re fucking with me.” HP’s eyes widened.

“I’m not. I’ll refrain from any details. However, consider that my confessional for the night.”

A fit of laughter broke out between the two of them, echoing into the slowly lightening sky as tears prickled at the corners of HP’s eyes. It was difficult to imagine Wekapipo, of all people, seeking out Diego’s services, but if the man was able to seduce a cop, HP supposed he could figure his way around any sort of person. There was a certain level of charisma he possessed that was hard to deny.

As the laughter finally died down and the pair fell into comfortable quiet again, HP thought back to the beginning of this entire exchange and sputtered out another brief giggle.

“Alright, back up for a minute. Did you really think I would drug you?”

“What? You can never be too safe in this city, HP, you said it yourself months ago.” Diego pleaded his case, feigning offense.

“If I wanted to drug you, I could’ve done it countless other times when you visited my bar and asked for a drink.” HP teased, then held up a hand to further their point. “Furthermore, Lucy could’ve drugged your ass the second you flew off the handle at her months ago.”

To this, Diego broke into laughter again and shook his head, lifting his arms in apparent defeat. “S’pose you have a point, then.”

“And yet you still don’t trust me to offer you a joint to yourself, out of the kindness of my heart, at nearly five in the morning, without feeling like I’ve laced it with something.”

“Well, maybe,” Diego lowered his voice and gestured towards the shared joint still sitting in its ashtray, “I wanted an indirect kiss.”

HP’s giggles ceased as they realized the close proximity of their bodies and the suddenly serious shift in Diego’s tone. Both of them were leaning over the arms of their chairs, towards each other, mere inches of space left between their faces.

“You what?” HP mumbled, as if every single syllable of Diego’s words hadn’t already reverberated through their spine.

“You heard me.” Diego’s stare lowered, briefly, to glance at HP’s lips before his own parted in a silent invitation.

That invitation, before it could even be considered for a moment, was being accepted with the sort of force of someone waiting a thousand years for something. Mind foggy with desire, HP reached forward to clutch Diego’s chin between their thumb and forefinger, pulling his face closer until their lips slotted across each other. Diego reciprocated, tilting his head and further parting his mouth for easier access.

HP kissed him hard, not even realizing how badly they’d been wanting this for so so painfully long. His lips were soft, plush, and malleable. His tongue was eager and willing as HP’s met it, the taste of scotch still present there as they closed their eyes and melted into him. It was hard to tell how long they kissed, only breaking away when the need for air far outweighed their desire to remain entwined.

Diego’s name slipped off HP’s tongue as soon as they parted. The man chuckled lowly and shifted in his seat, a faint blush present on his cheeks as he dragged a hand through his bangs.

“I always fancied you.” He admitted, albeit sounding a bit hopeless, orange light casting his flaxen hair ablaze. “You’re my type, y’know.”

HP, still flustered over one of the best kisses they’d ever experienced in their life, stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips, wordless over the additional confession.

“I should get going.” Diego stood, plucking his sunglasses out of his shirt and placing them over his eyes. “And you should get some sleep.”

They were still having a difficult time finding words, but HP stood and wrapped a hand around Diego’s forearm before he could take too many steps.

“Don’t leave,” they managed, “please.”

“I’ll come back,” Diego whispered, leaning forward to place one more purposeful kiss to the corner of HP’s mouth, “I promise.”

With that, he was gone. Out the front door, down the stairwell, and flagging down a taxi. HP watched him leave from their spot on the balcony, leaning over the railing with their fingers delicately pressed against the spot he’d just kissed them.

HP wouldn’t see Diego again for another two years.

---

Diego’s kiss had left an unseen mark on HP that was proving impossible to forget. Nights were plagued with dreams of that and more, days at work were spent anxiously watching the front door, silently begging for him to waltz back in and continue terrorizing the bar. When Lucy returned from her vacation, HP said nothing about Diego’s sudden appearance, figuring it was best to keep the entire thing private, locked away. Lucy had always joked about there being something between HP and Diego, but the idea of admitting that a kiss had happened felt like it was more trouble than it was worth.

After a month, HP remained hopeful that Diego would return. After six, the hope was starting to dwindle. After a year, it was almost entirely gone. For a while, they worried about him. Diego was smart, but what if he’d somehow wound up in jail, or worse, dead? The mere thought made HP nauseous. But besides the worry and nausea, there was anger too. Why would he promise to come back and then not deliver on that promise? Why hadn’t HP found some sort of way to contact him? A phone number, an address of some kind? Hell, social media? The whole thing felt so stupid, sometimes HP wondered if they’d hallucinated the entire thing. Maybe Diego never showed up late that night, maybe he never joined HP on their balcony, and maybe the kiss was just HP’s desire playing tricks on them.

Diego plagued HP’s mind constantly, but there were bigger things to worry about. The Green Tomb was quickly losing money. Business was the lightest it had been in years; even regulars who’d made a point to visit every week were beginning to drift elsewhere. HP couldn’t blame them, the city was expanding and booming elsewhere, and The Green Tomb wasn’t exactly in the best area of town.

A year and a half after Diego’s random appearance, Lucy decided to take her leave and move on to bigger things. She’d made the choice to return to college full-time, though she expressed that she would miss working alongside HP and hoped to keep in contact. This, in the end, was the best choice for both Lucy and the bar, since HP was having a hard time finding the money to offer Lucy fair pay. It was sad to see her go, but HP ultimately didn’t mind the idea of running the bar completely by themself. HP was actually grateful for the lack of customers on Lucy’s final night working at The Green Tomb, leaving the two in a shared quiet that was bittersweet.

“Feel free to pour yourself something, since it’s your last night here,” HP offered near the end of the bar’s business hours, nodding towards the wall of alcohol as they swept a broom near the front door.

“Oh, I’m okay,” Lucy declined, still standing at the register, ready as ever for any potential customers. “Funny that I’d work at a bar when I don’t really like to drink, huh?”

“Not at all,” HP laughed, “I’m actually not much of a drinker either.”

“Interesting choice of career.” Lucy teased, but HP could tell it was all meant in good fun.

Despite working together for so many nights at this point, the two had never really shared much personal conversation. They’d often discuss regulars, or happenings around the city, but HP was a guarded person and Lucy was not the pushy type, which made for a complete lack of vulnerability on HP’s part.

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing. I’m never tempted to make myself a drink when I’m here.” HP shrugged, dumping a dustpan into a trash can before putting the broom away behind the bar. “Honestly, I dealt with so many drunk assholes when I was a bouncer, it sort of ruined any appeal.”

“I wish I could’ve seen that.” Lucy giggled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You as a bouncer.”

“Back then we had a lot more business. My brother knew how to run this place, but he definitely wasn’t very good at conflict management. I was happy to fill that role.”

“He sounds like a good guy.” Lucy smiled, then gestured towards the bar’s wall of framed photos. “I’ve looked at those pictures so many times, I’ve always wondered why you don’t talk about him much.”

No, Lucy wasn’t pushy, but she most certainly was curious. On any other given night HP would’ve likely shrugged off the questioning and simply changed the topic, but this was Lucy’s final night here, and ever since the topic of HP’s brother had just barely been touched on during Diego’s visit… well, they’d been feeling especially mournful.

“He was probably the kindest person I’ve ever known. You and him would’ve gotten along wonderfully.”

Lucy’s smile softened, and when she cocked her head to the side HP could already sense the words she was about to say.

“Can I… ask what happened to him?”

Generally, HP’s answer was always ‘no’. Even with the events of their brother’s death taking place so many years ago, it was a subject even they themselves didn’t like to personally linger on. And yet, Lucy’s genuine warmth was encouraging some sort of openness in HP that they were not used to.

“He was shot.” HP explained bluntly, softly, appreciating that Lucy didn’t react too overdramatically and instead just looked at HP with complete solace. “While in these four walls. A man came in, demanded money, and –”

And when I saw him berating my baby brother I got so angry that I couldn’t stop myself, I lunged at him and he drew the gun and shot my brother right in the chest and oh god I couldn’t do enough to stop the bleeding and he bled out in my arms, my fear got the best of me, I failed to protect him I failed my one job as his older sibling and I’ll never forgive myself for that –

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy whispered, her voice soothing but firm enough to cut through the wailing echoing through HP’s skull.

HP just nodded, trying to maintain composure. It was the first time in a very long time that they’d verbally explained what happened, albeit vaguely and devoid of the more guilt-inducing context that went along with it. Part of them wondered if they’d have shared these details with Diego when he had asked, if he would’ve stuck around with them for long enough that night. It was just another what-if that constantly plagued them, especially while trying to fall asleep most nights.

The topic of HP’s brother remained untouched for the rest of Lucy’s final shift. More humorously, however, was the mention of Diego alongside a look of disdain.

“Did he ever show up again?” Lucy asked, nose crinkled with disgust.

“No,” HP lied, laughing softly, “but he definitely owed you an apology.”

“I thought I saw him the other day, y’know.” Lucy lifted a hand to jut her thumb out towards the front door. “Outside, down the street. Wasn’t completely sure, but I really thought about yelling at him.”

The likelihood of that seemed slim to none, given that HP had spent many evenings scanning the streets from their balcony for any sight of the man.

“Unfortunately I doubt you’ll be getting any sort of apology from a guy like him, Lucy.”

“Fine by me,” Lucy scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean, of course I hope he’s safe, but geez…”

She didn’t need to explain further. The two of them shared a laugh, and that was enough. They’d always share the memories of when Diego had first walked into the bar and quickly made an impression, and HP doubted Lucy would ever forget about him even though she’d be leaving the city for good.

---

After Lucy’s final goodbye, business for The Green Tomb was still on a steady decline. The idea of having to close the bar was beginning to feel more and more like a possibility, and while HP didn’t mind solitude, the empty seats at the bar were becoming quite discouraging. Most nights were quiet, uneventful, boring, leaving HP alone with their thoughts and the subtle drone of the classic rock that their brother always loved so much.

Maybe the bar could’ve done better if HP had invested more in appealing to more modern ideas and trends. It was a thought that occurred to them as they carefully dusted around the photographs filling the bar’s wood-panel walls late one night. Their eyes were fixed on one of their favorites: a photo of their brother standing outside the bar’s entrance, many years ago, just after renovations had been completed. HP was standing next to him, looking off-putting and serious as they always had back then, dressed in all black and mind set on one particular goal of keeping the bar safe so that their brother could continue living his dream. This was a goal they’d continued holding even after his passing, though they weren’t sure how’d they’d cope with the inevitability of having to close it down.

The Green Tomb was the last shred of connection HP had left with their brother. Closing would feel like a failure, a huge disservice that HP imagined would have him rolling in his grave. Maybe not, considering how kind and selfless he had always been, but the sense of responsibility residing on HP’s shoulders was far too heavy to imagine anything else.

HP continued along the row of frames, now dusting a smaller one that showed a photo of their brother standing with all the employees of the bar, grinning as per usual. This was one of the more difficult ones to look at for longer than a few seconds; the very spot where he was standing, right next to the register, was the spot where he’d eventually met his end. HP’s eyes stayed there for a moment too long and they tore their stare away, feeling the familiar heat at the corner of their eyes. Now was not the time to think back to times they wished they could redo a thousand times until everything had come out differently.

Just as a tear broke through HP’s well-trained defenses, the bell at the top of the entryway dinged. HP kept their attention focused on another photo as they tried to get their emotions under control, calling out, “Be with you in a moment, just have a seat.”

There was no sound from the bar, and HP figured it was probably one of the last few regulars. They finished dusting off a more recent photo – one of Lucy grinning and showing off her pink dyed apron adorned with flower and horse themed pins – before gathering their composure and turning around.

“Sorry about that, what –”

HP’s words caught in their throat as their eyes settled on familiar blonde hair and freckled cheeks. Diego’s name was on the tip of their tongue as they stared at him and dropped the duster they’d been holding in their hand.

“Hello, HP.” He sure had a knack for disappearing for extended periods of time and then saying hello out of nowhere.

“Where –” HP started, all the questions they wanted to ask fighting for dominance and none of them winning, “What are you –”

“I know.” He stated simply, standing there awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets. “A lot has happened.”

“You said you’d be back, you promised.” HP managed, maintaining distance from him. It was hard to tell exactly how they were feeling, difficult to tell how they’d physically react.

“And here I am.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and extended them out as if to signal his arrival.

“It’s been over a year and half, Diego.” HP shook their head in disbelief.

“Let’s chat.” He offered, gesturing towards the bar. “I’ll explain everything.”

Wordlessly, HP obeyed, despite the confusion clouding every single centimeter of their mind. Like clockwork, they reached for the bottle of Glenlivet they’d always poured for his visits in the past. By the time they were about to pour a glass, Diego had reached out with one hand to stop the bottle from tipping any further.

“I’ll have to pass, my –” he stopped, lightly pressing his teeth into his bottom lip and recalibrating his words, “I can’t stay for long, just a few minutes.”

HP paused with the bottle in midair for several seconds, trying to parse what he was going to say before cutting himself off. Was he no longer in the market for personal conversations that gleaned even a tiny amount of information about himself? They stayed silent, observing Diego as he appeared to be mentally sorting through everything he wanted to say. As they observed, their eyes scanned the beautiful angles of his facial structure, the nervous bob of his throat, the peek of collarbone through his v-neck shirt, the exposed freckled skin of his arms, the fidgeting of his fingers against the bartop, and then –

“What’s that?” It felt like a stupid question when the answer was so plainly obvious. It was a gold band on Diego’s left ring finger, one that he quickly tucked beneath his middle under the guise of cracking it with his thumb.

Flashbacks of their shared kiss ran through HP’s mind, playing over and over again with an unknown amount of accuracy. It’d been so long, the action so fleeting, that maybe they’d remembered it incorrectly. What if it had been the worst kiss of their life? Then why was it that it haunted their dreams nearly every night? Diego owed them nothing, realistically, and yet seeing a wedding ring on his finger felt like a swift knife to the chest.

“She’s old,” Diego mumbled, as if this did anything to soothe the ache HP was feeling. “Won’t be around much longer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married before?” HP asked, frustrated by how meek their voice came out sounding.

“I wasn’t. We got married after –” He stopped again, but HP could sense he was experiencing the very same flashbacks, the way his eyes glassed over for a moment told them enough. “After I left the city.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Rage bubbled up in HP’s chest as they fought the urge to slap Diego across his stupid face. His lack of emotion or, at the very least, guilt, was infuriating. Why even bother showing back up if he was just going to sit down for a few minutes to reveal he’d gotten married and share fuck-all else?

“Then why are you here.” It left HP’s mouth as less of a question and much more of a disappointed observation. They’d been trying so hard to forget he existed.

“To tell you everything will make sense soon.” Diego whispered, and the way his eyes lit up with determination still did little to quell the irritation HP was experiencing.

“As if I could trust you when you promised me last time that –”

This time it was Diego’s phone ringing that cut the conversation off. Impeccable timing, seeing as HP was just about ready to release the floodgates and let Diego hear the entirety of their sorrow for the last several years. Diego offered a look that held at least a shred of apology before he discreetly checked his phone screen and sighed.

“I have to leave, but I will be back.”

“Sure.” HP shook their head, gestured dismissively towards the front door and avoided looking at Diego again, seeing as it might be the last time they’d ever see him. “Go.”

Even the way Diego hesitantly brushed his hand across the one HP still had anchored on the bartop wasn’t enough to guide their eyes back towards him. They kept them fixed on the wall of photographs until the tell-tale sound of the entrance opening and shutting was over with.

---

The Green Tomb would only remain open for four months after Diego’s fleeting visit. Profit was scarce, and though HP considered digging into savings just to keep the place needlessly open for a bit longer, it became evident that the bar simply wasn’t meant to survive anymore. HP did their best to resist pondering how well it would have done if their brother were still around to steer the ship, instead convincing themself that he would be proud of their ability to run it for the time they were fortunate enough to.

With frames and knick-knacks boxed up and shoved to one side of HP’s studio apartment, they decided they’d remain living above the now empty space beneath them, and sought out employment elsewhere. Fortunately, with their resume and experience, another bar just three blocks down was more than happy to take them on as a bartender. The unfortunate part was they were only willing to offer part-time hours, so HP knew it wasn’t a forever gig.

Weeks ticked by, shifting into months. With the inside of their apartment now taken up by boxes of things they simply didn’t know what to do with, HP spent the majority of their free time seated on their balcony, joint in hand and eyes lazily observing the city beneath them. Most days, they tried not to think too hard about the direction their life was going in, because truthfully? They weren’t sure of the answer to that question. Nowhere fast, that was for certain.

Perhaps it was time to leave the city. Bartending was fine, but it was all they’d known for years now, and maybe a change was necessary. However, there was comfort in familiarity, and though they’d never admit it out loud they felt a sense of responsibility for this corner of this block in this city. There was blood on their hands that they hadn’t been able to wash off yet, and of course they’d scarcely considered the possibility that existing near the same spot it’d been spilled for so long was part of the reason it would never wash off.

And Diego? Well, HP would be lying if they said they’d been able to completely forget about him. However, it had gotten easier when they’d stopped running The Green Tomb. No longer were they reminded of his toothy smirk every time they looked at the stool smack-dab in the middle of the bar, though they still had to shove back the memory whenever they poured someone a glass of scotch at their new place of employment.

After a year, he never showed back up. And that was no surprise, seeing as he’d previously broken a similar promise. No longer was HP plagued with worry over his well-being; wherever he was he was very likely fine. Probably still married to some old coot. The entire thing now made HP chuckle. If memory served correctly, he’d said that HP had been his type, but maybe that had been a lie as well. Typical.

It was the middle of Fall, and the start of HP’s weekend. They’d spent the majority of their morning and afternoon in bed, tossing and turning until they’d slept a number of minutes in every possible comfortable position imaginable. Eventually, they’d grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and the case of joints from their nightstand, then made their way out to the balcony as usual. The sky was beginning to shift into deep blue, the slight hint of stars present if you focused hard enough. It was a Monday, so the street was relatively quiet besides cars passing by. From their spot on the balcony, HP could see the still boarded up doorway to The Green Tomb, noting that someone had sprayed some illegible graffiti there since yesterday. Instead of feeling offended, they rolled their eyes and took a hit, holding it in their lungs for a moment before leaning back and exhaling.

Much of HP’s life was spent alone these days, which was a fine balance with how busy the bar they now worked at was. The crowds were so overwhelming that it often took the entirety of their weekend to fully mentally recover, making them sorely miss the scarcity and familiarity of The Green Tomb’s visitors. Nowadays they were often dealing with young citygoers and barhoppers who were loud and enthusiastic, far less likely to sit down and share a life story. All of it felt so fake and forced, HP wasn’t surprised that, despite serving far more people, their tips were minuscule. It was hard to connect with anyone, not that they were really interested in doing so. After all, last time they’d attempted that they’d been blue-balled by a gorgeous man who ran off into the night and disappeared for years –

HP took another hit, closing their eyes and trying to clear their mind. If they focused on the distant sound of sirens and the gentle cool breeze wafting through their hair, they didn’t have to think about Diego. Weekends were meant to detach from everything, to dope themselves up to the point of not having to experience a singular feeling beyond relaxation. An easy feat, as long as the city exhibited its usual ambience and stayed mostly quiet.

From beneath their balcony, HP could hear someone walking down the sidewalk, stopping, then knocking against a door just below their spot. Not unusual, but it was when the knocking turned into repeated aggressive pounding that they shut their eyes tighter in an effort to somehow get the sound to stop. It didn’t.

“Bar’s closed,” HP called out, mostly for their own sake as the repetitive banging sound was beginning to grate on their nerves. “Has been for a while.”

“Then where the bloody hell am I supposed to get a glass of mediocre scotch around here?”

“There’s plenty of bars like three blocks away, just –”

HP’s voice caught in their throat as the voice they’d heard finally fully processed through their memory banks. British accents weren’t common in this city in the first place, but this was one that often echoed through the furthest corners of their mind. To say they were familiar would be an understatement.

As soon as their eyes flew open, HP sat still as a board in their chair and could feel the pounding in their chest becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Surely it was a memory flitting through their brain, playing tricks aided by the joint held between their fingers. It felt like an eternity before they leaned over the railing to get a proper look at the person standing in front of what used to be The Green Tomb’s entrance, though in reality it was mere seconds.

Defining the emotions that quickly crept into HP’s body would’ve been impossible; whatever they were, it was overwhelming. Below their balcony, dressed in a denim jacket and brown corduroys, was unquestionably Diego Brando. Even with the distance and little light provided by streetlamps, HP could tell by the way he was standing with his arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow raised and a sly little smile pulling at his lips.

“S’pose you don’t have a bottle up there? Of Glenlivet, I mean.”

HP should’ve been furious, or at the very least annoyed, if they were honest with themself. Repeatedly, this man had floated back into HP’s life with no apparent rhyme or reason, disappearing just as quickly, and here he was again to very likely do the exact same thing. And yet, HP wanted to dash down the stairwell and yank him back upstairs. Maybe it was the memories that made them feel this way, seeing as Diego was a fragment of their association with The Green Tomb. Though he had only been around for a small piece of the bar’s existence, he was an important part of it. In HP’s mind, at least.

“You came back.” HP observed as they leaned over the balcony, voice quiet but just loud enough for Diego to hear in this now mostly defunct part of the city.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Diego cocked his head to the side, offering HP a clearer view of his neck.

“Well…” HP shrugged, took another hit, and smoke briefly re-obstructed their view of him. “I’m afraid you’re several months too late. Bar’s closed.” They reiterated.

“Look, I’m not here for the bloody bar,” Diego scoffed, speaking as if it should’ve been plainly obvious to anyone in the world why he was standing on this particular block in this particular city. And yet, he didn’t offer an explanation, just stared up at HP incredulously.

“What do you want, Diego?” HP only asked once several seconds had ticked by, giving him plenty of time to explain on his own. It was a simple question, but it felt as if a lot was riding on whatever answer he would offer up.

“I –” He started, then abruptly stopped and scanned the other side of the street. Nobody had walked by on either side since even long before he’d showed up. “To pick up where we left off.”

“Oh? You mean when you kissed me, disappeared for god knows how long, then showed back up to tell me you’d gotten married?” With every couple words HP spoke, Diego’s expression twisted and his eyes rolled. “I’m not sure where we’d ‘pick up’ from a situation like that.”

“I told you I’d explain, didn’t I?”

Maybe, in another universe, where HP hadn’t fallen into a lonely depression set off by shutting down their business and made significantly worse by a whole buffet of issues they’d never sat down to parse through, they’d have had the strength to tell Diego to fuck off and leave them alone. Perhaps they’d possess the willpower to shut him down for good and send him all the way back to Manchester with his tail tucked between his legs. There was certainly an alternate timeline out there where that would’ve happened, but unfortunately it couldn’t be this one.

Diego was staring up at HP as if the entire world hinged on them allowing him the opportunity to say his peace. Even with the physical distance between them, HP could sense that much, making them wonder just how quickly they would’ve buckled if they’d been face-to-face with him on that sidewalk. It was embarrassing to think about.

“Get up here, then.” HP finally relented, not staying to watch his movements as they retreated inside their apartment.

Just as they unlocked their front door they could hear the creaking of the stairwell. Their hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment, flinching away as soon as they felt it turn. Diego pushed the door open, and when HP stopped it with the weight of their shoulder he gave them a confused look.

“I don’t have money to pay for your services, sir.” HP deadpanned, sticking a singular finger out towards a weathered ‘no soliciting’ sign tacked next to their door.

“Oh, fuck off,” Diego groaned, “that’s not –” he sighed, shook his head. “I’m not –”

“I’m joking.” HP tried to ignore the slight blush on Diego’s cheeks, anchoring one of their hands on the knob and refraining from opening the door any further, almost like a test. It was dark, the only thing illuminating Diego’s face was the fluorescent light barely clinging to life in HP’s kitchen area.

“Besides, I don’t –”

Whatever Diego was going to needlessly elaborate on quickly died in his throat. This time the kiss was hungrier, somehow far more desperate than it had been years ago, though messy and briefly fumbled as HP’s teeth clicked against his. Diego responded with a grunt as he was yanked into HP’s apartment by a hand fisted into the fabric of his sweater, the front door hastily shut without any care towards locking it. Logic was no longer playing any cards here, the only thing dictating HP’s actions was a beast that had sat unsatisfied for far too long.

Just as quickly as he was pulled inside, Diego’s back hit the wall next to the front door, rattling a nearby bookshelf. The sound went unnoticed, eclipsed by the pounding in HP’s ears that became almost overwhelming as soon as one of their legs pressed itself between Diego’s. A risky move they hadn't thought through even a little bit, but when his hips readily rolled to meet the action, it only furthered the need quickly warming every inch of their skin.

Amidst the frankly impulsive exchange, a flash of reason rushed through HP’s mind and they quickly pulled away from him. “Your wife –” they started, their lips still close enough to brush his as they spoke.

“No.” Diego shook his head, holding HP’s body in place with a singular finger tugging at one of their belt loops. “It’s fine.”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Diego.”

“She’s dead.”

HP pulled their face back enough to fully study Diego’s expression, their eyebrows suddenly knitted together with a mix of confusion and concern. When their gaze flicked down towards his hands and they confirmed, yes, there was no longer a ring on any of his fingers, they looked him dead in the eyes again and gave their head a small shake.

“She’s… dead?”

“Yes, now carry on,” Diego huffed, giving his hips another needy roll and slightly pouting.

Strangely, it seemed he was largely unaffected by talking about his apparently deceased wife. HP wouldn’t put it past him to lie about something like this; maybe it would’ve been a better idea to rethink this entire situation and ask him to leave, just in case. But, god, he made it so hard to say no. Even if he did have a loving wife still very much alive and waiting for him back home, HP wanted to ruin him and give him an experience he’d never forget.

“Don’t lie to me,” HP mumbled just before sealing another purposeful kiss against his lips.

“M’not.” His reply was just as quiet, more of a whine than anything, and it only furthered HP’s desires.

With that, the last bit of any remaining logic and reason jumped out the window and left the two of them engaged in a breathless, messy exchange. By the time the backs of Diego’s thighs thumped against HP’s unmade twin-sized bed he had already tossed his jacket and sweater somewhere on the floor, which seemed out of character given how proud he was of his clothing in the past. HP paid it no mind, instead zeroing in on the supple skin of his neck and what little noises he made with every experimental action of their mouth. They were fighting an internal battle of whether or not to pull back and admire his body, knowing full well it might make this entire thing even worse. Not that there was any coming back from this, but for now they chose to focus on the way Diego craned his head back to welcome HP’s tongue and teeth. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he was far more pliable than HP had expected.

It was after a particularly pathetic sounding whimper, likely caused by HP’s hand finding its way to one of Diego’s nipples, that the former had no choice but to ground themself for a second. Diego was now laying against the bed with his legs dangling off its foot, one of HP’s still slotted between them. They hadn’t realized the force of their body, though as soon as they took one look at Diego’s flushed face and half-lidded eyes they realized the last thing he was going to do was fight back or resist. Rather, he’d enthusiastically gripped HP’s wrist in one hand and placed it back on his chest as soon as they’d tried to retract the action.

An apology sat heavy on HP’s tongue, but it never left their mouth and instead remained obvious in their stare. Diego tutted, an almost purr-like sound coming from his throat as he curled his other hand around the nape of HP’s neck.

“Turn around,” HP demanded, deciding they’d rather not look into his horrifically beautiful eyes while getting him off. “Pants off.”

Diego obliged without any reservations. He took his time removing his corduroys, making a show of it as they slid down his thighs and revealed a pair of skimpy little briefs. The entire show made shoving his face into the pillow at the head of the bed even more enjoyable and easier. With his angelic face out of the way, now all HP had to focus on was his ass. It was a plump little ass that arched under HP’s stare and made the heat in their groin swell to unbearable degrees.

HP didn’t fully remove his briefs, just slid them down enough to sneak a hand between his cheeks and prod tentatively at his hole. Another whine came from Diego’s mouth, muffled deliciously by the pillow as his hands fisted themselves into the already crumpled sheets beneath him.

In a perfect situation, HP would’ve had the time and patience to slowly work him open and blow the dust off a strap from the largely unused collection at the back of their nightstand. But this exchange wasn’t about being a delicate, thoughtful lover. What was it about? Well, there wasn’t any time to think about that. All HP knew was that they wanted to make Diego cum, right in their bed, by their own hand, to free themself from the endless nights of wondering what it might be like. That was the singular need that was driving every action their body took.

Diego’s body worked with HP’s hand, his hips moving to facilitate each motion all while making sure to achieve friction at his front. HP wasn’t paying any attention to his cock, though they caught glimpses of it leaking desperately against the sheets and wondered just how much longer he’d last. They hadn’t expected him to be so easy, but maybe that was for the best.

When HP’s two fingers curled to find a spot that made Diego’s entire body shiver, the man’s head turned just enough for part of his face to be visible. Drool coated the pillow and his lips, his eyes were clouded with lust as he groaned and spoke a barely audible warning.

Sure enough, it only took a few more well-placed curls to make Diego’s hips stutter as his release coated the sheets and his hole tightened to hold HP’s fingers in place for as long as possible. His eyes screwed shut as he moaned, his teeth sinking into the pillow. HP’s head pounded as they watched him fall apart, feeling a mix of satisfaction and turmoil. Was the itch scratched? Why did they feel as if it still wasn’t? Where was the clarity they’d expected to bathe in?

Just as HP engaged in an internal battle with themself, Diego was ready for more. He seemed disoriented, weak in the way he stumbled to his knees and placed a hand on HP’s hip. “Your turn.” He whispered against their lips, fingers ghosting across the closure of their jeans.

“I’m not letting you fuck me.” HP denied him, because that had never been their intention in the first place, never part of the countless daydreams and imaginary scenarios. Even so, they didn’t smack his hand away or shove him off the bed.

“No,” Diego agreed, shaking his head, “let me taste you.”

HP’s spine tingled as those words left his mouth, their body acting on its own as they joined him on the bed and began undoing their pants despite the words they uttered. “I’m not really –”

“Relax. I’m very good,” Diego promised, his tongue flicking out to further coat his already wet lips. Something about his tone, while being cheeky, felt laced with sincerity, as if he could never be more confident about anything in his entire life. “I want to.”

HP’s last sexual encounter had been so long ago they could barely remember it, making it difficult for them to imagine themself getting off at the hands and mouth of a man who seemed far more attuned to satisfying dicks than vaginas. And yet, they could feel wetness pooling in their underwear, and under Diego’s hungry stare it was only getting worse.

“Fine. Okay.”

Under Diego’s breathy direction, HP removed their bottoms and sat at the edge of the bed, choosing to look out the still-open balcony door instead of watching Diego get on his knees between their legs. He refrained from touching them with his hands, and they quietly appreciated that. He was, in fact, not lying. The very second his lips delicately made contact with HP’s inner thigh they could feel their body melting into his ministrations. With every kiss and brush and lick, their back collapsed further and further until they were laying against the mattress and staring up at the ceiling, fighting to keep their eyes from rolling back.

Diego feasted with an expertise HP did not expect, his mouth and tongue reaching places they themself didn’t even know would feel so incredible. If they were making any noises, it was all drowned out by the ringing in their ears and the blissful cloud seeming to overtake their brain. It didn’t last long; HP came with a shocked grunt, their thighs instinctively sealing Diego’s head in place as he continued lapping at their most sensitive spot. When he grunted in response, the vibration sent another wave of pleasure wracking through HP’s body and they gasped, fisting a hand in Diego’s hair and digging their fingernails into his scalp.

And then it was over. Diego caught his breath, wiping at his mouth with his forearm as HP stayed with their back against the dirtied sheets, limbs feeling like jello, hand letting go of Diego’s hair and giving it a singular apologetic stroke. Quiet fell over the room for several minutes before HP found the strength to stand, replace their underwear, and step into the kitchen area. From the cabinet they pulled a washcloth, and from the counter they found a half-empty bottle of the very scotch Diego had jokingly asked for when he’d arrived. Not bothering to find glasses for either of them, HP uncapped the bottle and set its lid to the side, taking a long swig as they headed back towards the bed and tossed the washcloth towards Diego. It landed on his shoulder before he took it and began cleaning himself off. HP studied the mess on his lower abdomen, realizing he must’ve cum all over again just from eating them out.

HP settled back against the bed again while he worked, waiting until he’d pulled his briefs back on and sat on the floor with his back against the nightstand before wordlessly offering him the bottle of scotch. He accepted, taking a sip and humming with apparent satisfaction.

“Tastes better with ice,” Diego observed, handing it back.

“Ice machine’s been busted for a while.” HP explained. “I used to take bags of it from the bar and store it in my freezer.”

“Why not replace the machine?” Diego countered, encouraging a conversation that felt incredibly strange given what had just transpired minutes ago.

“Why are you here?” HP flipped the subject on its head, repeating the very words they’d asked him before he’d stumbled into their apartment.

This time, Diego didn’t immediately answer. He silently reached for the bottle again, taking another drink as soon as HP obliged, then seemed to sit with the words for a little while longer. Maybe he wasn’t even sure. Was he driven by the same sort of unseen force that HP had always felt? As if their paths were meant to intertwine but it was never even remotely clear as to why? As much as he appeared to think, nothing left his mouth besides a muffled burp.

“Is your wife really dead?” HP attempted a separate question, picking and choosing from a long list in their head that would probably take years for the two to fully explore.

“Yes,” he insisted, finally looking at them with an expression that held nothing but sincerity, devoid of the typical sharpness he exhibited. “I wouldn’t lie about that, I’m a loyal man.”

“Then what’s the story there?” HP prodded, plucking the bottle from his hands and taking a sip for bravery. “Loyal, but you’re doing sex work.” They were aware of the implications of that statement, slightly regretting it the second it left their mouth, but they remained firm.

“Right.” Diego paused, eyeing HP cautiously as he swept his bangs out of his face. “If I tell you about my late wife, you’ll owe me a personal story as well.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” An outright lie, and HP could tell that Diego could see right through it. His stare went sharp again, making HP revise their statement. “Fine. Whatever. Deal.”

“My wife,” Diego started, stealing the scotch from HP with the same energy they’d previously exhibited, “was a client. Elderly, very wealthy, no family, and widowed for a number of years. She was lonely, and found me to be excellent company.” He finally took a drink.

“So…” HP trailed off, chewing on their lip for a moment, “you’re a… gold digger?”

Diego choked, coughing to clear his throat as he sputtered a string of declinations. The entire thing would’ve been far more humorous in a lighter situation.

“I prefer the term ‘resourceful’,” he eventually stated once he caught his breath. “Judge all you want, but both parties benefited. I quit sex work after we got engaged.”

HP wasn’t judging, not really. If anything, they were bewildered by the fact that this was apparently Diego’s big secret that he’d been so hush-hush about. It was far from the weirdest thing they’d ever heard someone admit.

“Is that why you left, then?” They continued their line of questioning, trying to put the pieces together in their head.

Diego held up a finger and waggled it side-to-side, tutting. “I already answered a question, it’s your turn now.”

“Fine, answer this one and then I’ll answer yours.” HP relented, folding their arms across their chest.

“My marriage was partly why I left.” Diego’s answer was simple, and yet unearthed a plethora of additional questions. He handed the bottle back to HP. “Now, tell me why you closed the bar.”

HP’s eyes narrowed. They figured Diego could’ve deduced the answer to that one on his own as soon as he’d ran across the boarded up entrance. “Financial reasons.”

“No, that can’t be it,” Diego denied, “if that were true you would’ve closed years ago.”

Was HP supposed to be impressed by his amateurish detective work? They gave him a look of discontentment, almost like a silent warning that they wouldn’t mind tossing him out the front door if he continued prying.

Realistically, they weren’t sure they had the gall to do that anymore.

“I could tell the bar was a financial burden as soon as I visited the first time,” Diego explained, “it was hemorrhaging money for years.” He blinked, shrugging when HP said nothing. “Am I mistaken?”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then what was the real reason?”

It was becoming impossible to cope with the fact that, despite my best efforts, I could never rebuild what my brother had so lovingly created. Every day was a reminder of his brutal death. I relived his last moments every time I entered that front door.

“Running a business is not easy, Diego.” HP opted for a far simpler explanation that was not far from the truth, just very edited.

“Stress, then,” Diego deduced on his own, though he didn’t seem fully satisfied as he took another drink and swallowed. “Your turn.”

“When you said your marriage was partly why you left, what did you mean by that?” HP already had the question prepared. “What were the other reasons?”

Diego considered his answer again, eyes locking on the open balcony door as he pointed towards it. It took HP a few seconds to understand what he was implying before they slid off the bed, quickly crossed the room, and shut the door. When they threw their arms up in confusion, Diego uttered a low chuckle.

“I was looking for someone. When that person left this city, I left as well.”

“Who?” HP quickly replied, now sitting cross-legged in front of Diego and yanking the bottle from his hands again.

“Christ, HP,” Diego scoffed, smirking at the way HP was quickly uncoiling in front of him. “You haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

HP clenched their jaw, refraining from uttering an apology but attempting to calm themself. “You’ve been promising to explain everything for years, Diego, this is on you.”

“You’re right,” he surprisingly agreed, thumping his head back against the nightstand and placing his hands in his lap. “It’s a lot, though.”

“I don’t care. Just –” HP sighed, frustrated. “Tell me everything. I want to know.”

“Are you sure?” He asked slyly, but his smirk shifted into something more grim. “Is this going to be another one of your little confessionals?”

“Diego.” HP looked at him sternly, and then he finally cracked.

“I killed a man.”

Oh.

“You –”

“Or, rather, I had him killed.” The room felt incredibly quiet as Diego continued, his voice as serious as it had ever been. “Very expensive, hence the ‘gold digging’, as you called it.”

Mouth hanging slightly open, HP realized this must have been Diego’s little secret all along. Certainly much bigger and more dramatic than a marriage. “Why?” They whispered.

“Does that matter?” Diego countered. “He was a terrible man, he deserved to die, I spent the last fifteen years of my life making sure he was dealt with and that’s all you need to know.”

HP’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to process what the man was saying. Diego had gone from handsome stranger to cold-blooded killer in mere seconds, and yet HP didn’t feel unsafe sitting just inches away from him. There was no sympathy in HP’s heart for people who killed others needlessly, but it seemed there was something different here. Something in Diego’s expression told them that he meant it, that he needed to kill this man, and for good reason, whatever that may be.

“Are you going to toss me out? Call the police?” Diego joked, but HP knew there was a hint of honesty there.

“No,” they quickly answered, and that was true.

“It was several months ago, anyway. Well planned and executed by an expert, made it look natural. I wanted to do it myself, but…” Diego paused, looking out the balcony door again and narrowing his eyes. He chewed at his lip, picked nervously at his fingernail.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Diego’s face turned to meet HP’s stare again, a tentative expression taking over his features. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d… like to.” Somehow, that was the hardest thing HP had said all night.

To this, Diego said nothing, but a faint smile tugged at his lips as he tried to hide it behind taking another drink of the quickly emptying bottle of scotch.

“You’re not the only one in this room with blood on your hands.” HP quietly admitted in a moment of rare vulnerability, making Diego’s eyes widen.

“HP… is that why you invited me in? Are you secretly a serial killer who hunts ravishing young men with great assets?” Diego teased, tucking a finger beneath the waistband of his underwear before snapping the elastic against his skin.

HP plucked the bottle from his hands one last time. “You wish.” They quickly downed the rest, hoping it would manifest as courage.

Silence, shared stares, and then a faintly spoken observation that was scarily accurate.

“Your brother, then.”

Briefly, the room seemed to spin, and HP chalked it up to the alcohol coursing through their body. And yet, somehow, they felt anchored as they met Diego’s eyes and allowed their silence to serve as heavy confirmation.

“What happened?” Diego whispered, pulling his knees towards his chest and propping his head up there.

“He was shot during a robbery,” HP explained, doing nothing to fight the sting at the corners of their eyes. “Bled out in my arms.”

“Not your fault. You didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Does that matter?” HP fought back a sob, feeling a tear roll down their cheek, quickly followed by another.

Diego looked on in understanding, nodding slightly. “No. I suppose it doesn’t. Not to the heart, anyway.”

HP gave themself credit for not falling apart; even shedding a few tears was the most they’d done to deal with their brother’s death ever since the day it had happened. Losing The Green Tomb was like losing him all over again, leaving them broken and festering like an open wound yet to be cleaned and treated. It seemed Diego knew a thing or two about grief and the complexities of feeling like a coward despite doing what was correct or best, so at least they were in good company. HP thought back to one of the conversations they’d shared years ago, on the same night they’d kissed for the first time. The past tense he’d used when referring to his mother.

“My turn?” HP delicately asked as soon as their quiet sobs had devolved into little sniffles.

“‘Course,” Diego confirmed, “ask away.”

“Have you ever lost someone? Besides your late wife?” They tacked on the second part, hoping they’d reached the point where honesty about more personal matters would be easier anyway.

“My mother,” the answer came quickly and monotone, leaving HP unable to read whatever emotions Diego felt in regards to that loss. “When I was young.”

“I’m sorry.” HP mumbled, to which Diego shrugged off the apology and seemed to prefer not discussing it. “Your turn now.”

The man leaned against the side of the bed, pulling at one of the sheet’s loose strings as he mulled over his options. HP was grateful when he requested something less deep-seated and vulnerable.

“Would it be insensitive to use my turn as a request for us to make out again?”

“No,” HP laughed through their nose and crawled closer to him, grasping his jaw with one hand, “absolutely not.”

Late night gradually shifted to early morning as the two got to know each other in ways other than verbally, moving from carpeted floor to kitchen counter and back to the completely mussed state of HP’s bed. By the time sunlight had barely peeked through the balcony door, they were covered only by an old woven blanket, bedsheets undone and halfway kicked to the floor. A second bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the nightstand, flanked by HP’s tin of joints they’d grabbed from the balcony during a very brief moment of recovery. Diego’s hair was knotted and fanned across the pillowcase, one of his bare legs swung over the side of the bed as HP, seated next to him, passed a joint his way.

When Diego took a hit, he sighed blissfully and closed his eyes, passing it back before tucking his arm behind his head. The pair had long since forgotten to keep track of whose turn it was to ask the other a personal question, and while HP still had a list of things to bring up, it was Diego who broke the silence during this particular break.

“Who was the gunman?”

“Not sure,” HP answered, knowing immediately he was referring to their brother’s killer. “Don’t think it matters, really. He’s rotting in jail.”

“Shame,” Diego whined, “I was hoping we could deal with him ourselves.” The look he had on his face was humorous, and HP was surprised by their ability to softly laugh at the outlandish idea.

“Who was the man you killed?” HP retorted with one of the questions currently at the top of their list. “Or… paid to have killed, I guess.”

“My father.” Diego answered plainly, his eyes still closed. “Bloody wanker left nothing for me.”

“Well, you did kill him.” It was HP’s turn to joke, elbowing Diego lightly in the shoulder.

The man opened one eye and smirked. “S’pose you have a point.”

While HP still had a number of questions related to this particular piece of Diego’s strange story, they left them untouched for now. It was possible that, whenever Diego decided to leave, he’d never see HP again, but after repeatedly getting off with the man for hours and sharing far more personal details than they had with anyone in their life, they were okay with allowing for a bit more mystery. For now, or maybe for forever.

“I have another outlandish question.” Diego opened his other eye now, using both to look up at HP as he grasped lightly at their forearm.

HP laughed, taking a hit and turning towards the nightstand, placing their joint in the ashtray. “I don’t think anything would surprise me at this point.”

“Run away with me.”

That wasn’t a question, just a demand. HP whipped their head back around, blinking several times and searching Diego’s face for a hint of humour. There was none. If they had heard him correctly, he was dead serious, and his hand was still wrapped around their arm in a desperate but wordless plea.

“Sorry –” HP chuckled in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m starting fresh, back in Manchester. You should come with me.”

Okay, so maybe Diego did still possess the ability to surprise HP at this point. It was an absurd request, one that felt impossible and, above all else, stupid. And yet, HP couldn’t outright say ‘no’.

“We barely know each other, Diego,” HP laughed again, this time nervously, “I’ve lived here my entire life.”

“I like to think we know each other quite well at this point,” Diego purred, walking his fingertips across HP’s upper arm and wiggling his eyebrows. “What would you be leaving behind?”

Nothing. HP thought. And that was true, besides the still undealt with boxes of things from the bar’s interior. HP didn’t have anybody or anything to necessarily tie them down to this city, not besides a replaceable job that would surely be a blip on their resume at the end of its time in their life. At the same time, however, Diego was still mostly a stranger with an incredibly strange past and criminal activity.

“Where would I put all my stuff?” HP was grasping at straws to kill Diego’s argument, as fragile as it was in the first place. That was the funniest part, neither of them had strong legs to stand on.

“I already bought land, there’ll be plenty of room. I have enough to pay for your moving fees.” Diego offered, not shy about how deep his pockets were even after hiring a contract killer.

“But… why?”

Diego sat with that question, mulling it over, running his fingertips across HP’s arm before slotting his digits between theirs.

“It’s like I said, I’ve always fancied you.” He gave a toothy smirk, leaned up to press a lingering kiss to HP’s jaw, and then whispered the rest. “I think you fancy me too.”

HP did. A lot. Far more than they wanted to openly admit. And while their time together was minimal, their knowledge of each other scarce, HP somehow felt this was meant to be. The universe had always brought them back together, never with reasoning why, but maybe there didn’t need to be any specific reason beyond the two of them understanding each other. They were both broken, in different ways, far from fully dealing with the issues plagueing them, but maybe with time they would get there, together.

“Maybe…” HP started, and Diego waited with bated breath. “We can discuss it over breakfast.” HP reached for their phone, pulling up a food delivery service.

“I’d like that.” Diego agreed, curling up closer to HP. “Are you a waffle or pancake person?”

HP smiled. There was still much to learn about each other.

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LOOK WHAT I FOUND???

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two flavors of him ✌🏻😳

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素敵テンプレお借りしました＾＾ by 椏朱兎

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Diego Brando is so cool I wish dinosaurs were real

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happy diego week! for day one i went with the 'animal friends' prompt, i imagine he felt most at peace during the race when it was just him and his non-human companions 🧡

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They’ve been on my mind …

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Round five: Jonathan vs. Dio

😩🙏 Never enough Jonathan.

@dio-saurs I’m tagging you because yes.

(Reference used 👌 and I want more content like this pls. Hmu.)

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My Lady of Mercy

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i want toast

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this is my final piece for Joestar Rangers, a wild west JJBA zine! leftover sales will be opening from Aug 5th - Sep 2nd, so make sure to grab your copy if you didn't get a chance during preorders! 🏇

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Original art by 良政

The permission for reprinting this picture has been granted by the original artist. Please don’t reprint this anywhere else and go to the original source to bookmark and rate them 8)

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fallout new vegas crossover!!

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happy (headcanon) birthday to the fictional man who's been taking up 90% of my brain space for several years now 🧡🧡🦖 diego is so important to me 😭 i hope my adoration for him continues to shine through in all my art, it's the best way i know how to show it 🥺

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dinopants molars

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aaaand it's posted! forgive the lack of nice post LOL it's a tale as old as time.. i finish a fic and then get lazy when it comes to formatting for tumblr.. anyways i'm really happy with this one so i'd love to hear y'all's thoughts if you read it 🧡 ily dinopants