Making the Rounds

[Sora-No]

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    Mike would wander out of his apartment finally, having cleaned up his past errands and mishaps and working off what he could do get his stuff situated. His stuff wasn't touched other than him knocking down one of the cases while scrubbing the floor. It was kind of wild, looking over his huge brainless moment of attempting to "train" despite his condition. And thinking that he somehow lost a fight with someone with years of experience because he was being a "good guy" instead of whatever the fuck Troy, Duchess of Headassery was doing.

    He definitely was a fucking dumbass, no doubt about that. Thinking that he could call out this person to his face in such a hostile manner and not get monster mashed into the interlude of his (soon to have been) time of death. He's had a couple months to think things over, and while he's definitely not going to pull his punches if that fucker ever shows his mangled face again, he's also going to attempt to keep things cool. Talking to Troy could've been leagues different than grabbing his sword, stepping on his feet, and being a fucking child about it. The life and feeling of being an adventurer and making bank off it got in the way of using his goddamn brain for once.

    On the topic of being a fucking child, he's got to do the rounds. He's got people to apologize to and people to thank. Especially the former. He left without saying a fucking word to anyone other than Kalin, who barely even knows Mike, and then didn't give any indication that he was alive much less coming back. Luke, Soren... they didn't deserve that. Even if he had to sort his shit and didn't want to get in their way.

    But, first things first, he's got to get a crumb of income started up. Then he can start figuring out how to make it up to his pals. Which would lead him once again to the Triangle. He would open the door casually. Walk up to the bar and take a seat like it was just another day. His face was even, his eyes neutral as he scanned the place he once frequented.

    Despite this hilariously good depiction on How Not to Act Like Mike 101, his head was a firecracker of ideas and thoughts. It's been months. He disappeared after brushing off The Bartender's fellow friends despite their proper concern about Mike- y'know, self destructively setting literal fire to himself. And for what? For him to show up a few months later like nothing happened, looking as if nothing has changed?

    While his head thought this, he physically was quite different. A single wrapped cloth around his left forearm to cover the previous burn, and his exposed arms not looking to have gained any mass, but making up for that in definition. And his eyes had a sort of- glow behind them. An alertness, a determined ferocity that was far from the lazy, miserable, even angry look that could be found behind his eyes just a short time previously. Short, sure.

    "Uh, hey."

[Sparky]

    Nothing had changed in the quaint little club. Muffled music still thudded from above. Patrons still laughed, talked, and played various games amongst one another. Ambient noise, in an otherwise casual location. The familiar one-eyed bartender calmly stated "Back so soon, Michael?" Without turning towards the young man. Not until he was done rinsing the glasses he had set before him. The older gentleman calmly slid a menu towards the lad, politely waiting for him to make his order. There was no hostility or bitterness in his movements or his words. A neutral entity, like always. 

    One would think. 

    
    The bartender turned from the young man, calmly wiping down the counter before him. Idle habits that kept the place spick and span. His single eye always seemed to probe deeper, linger longer, know more. "I'm humbled you decided to visit me first." The Bartender stated. "Did you enjoy your time away? I'm certain you have many stories to share." His tone of voice gave nothing away. For all Mike knew, he could be fully sarcastic, chastising the young man for his disappearance. It could be completely innocuous. Alternatively, The Bartender might have even been leaving the interpretation of his tone entirely up to Mike himself, testing to see how the boy would respond. 

[Sora-No]

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    Mike would sigh, something akin to relief but not necessarily comfortable enough to do so. The Bartender obviously knew what shit went down, that much was certain off what he said. And with what had happened, this almost seemed... too tame? Like he's playing good cop and the bad cop's gonna come charging in with a baseball bat and a cacophony of foul language and blunt force trauma to deliver. Take a fucking breath, it's a conversation not a fucking brawl man.

    "To be honest? Didn't really do much." He began perusing through the menu, seeing if there was anything new on it despite either A. ordering the same fucking thing, or B. not ordering anything at all. "Went to do some perusing at the Library Arcana, got back in shape, then headed back over here." He said it quite lax, despite the list of things not really matching up to the time span. At least in Mike's mind, he should've been back here a month earlier. Though that's incredibly unrealistic, since he spent the first month or so lost as shit at what he was looking for. He's only certain he could've been here earlier because now he knows what to look for.

    "I came here first 'cause I said I needed a- quote, 'fucking drink', before promptly passing out because I didn't take your advice." He would attempt to give a chuckle, a lump appearing in his throat to cut it off promptly. "Sorry about that, by the way. Idiotic fucking adventures seem to have been my main stay and I caused a lot of bullshit as a result." He would then order said drink, because even if it's the afternoon he's about to have to replay this conversation and apologies ten times over with his friends soon.

[Sparky]

    Without batting his eye, The Bartender took Mike's order and set to work mixing the drink for him. The older man's movements were swift and careful. Not overly showy like some of the themed restaurants and bars one could find. Instead, they were movements of someone with experience. The Bartender didn't even have to use measuring utensils. Running the Triangle for so long, he knew how to eyeball it.

    "If the shape you were looking for was emaciated, then I'd say you succeeded." He stated bluntly, sliding the glass down to the young man. He let out a sharp whistle, and a blond haired young woman stuck her head out from the back. "A plate of Mozzarella sticks, if you would." 

    "Got it!" She beamed, giving the bartender a thumbs up before vanishing back inside. 

    "Before you argue..." The old man began, turning back towards Mike. This time, there was a stern bite in his voice. The type of tone a parent would take to emphasize that they weren't taking no for an answer. "...this is my treat. Consider it a gift to a valued customer or rationalize it however you wish. But let me be clear; you will owe nothing, and you will pay nothing. Understood?" It was rare for The Bartender to take that tone. Thankfully, the thrum of the music above did well to keep any of the regulars from hearing it, and the older man made sure his voice was low enough not to garner outside attention. 

    With a sigh, the older man leaned forwards, both hands on the bar. "It's fine to strive towards self improvement, and to take time for ones self. Especially after what happened. But never let that come at the expense of those closest to you, and certainly don't make the wrong assumption on why it happened. Learn from it, yes. But don't misunderstand the lesson and run in the wrong direction." The Bartender allowed the air to settle after that. Slowly, he straightened back up, and nodded towards the waitress as she brought out a plate loaded with mozzarella sticks. She smiled to both of the men, clearly unaware of the tension. As he watched the young woman slip back into the kitchen, the older man simply muttered. "Don't lose sight of the ones you care about, otherwise you'll never find them again." 

[Sora-No]

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    Mike would give a joking scoff, "Emaciated? Ouch..." Seems Bartender is just being neutral with him. Not in the clear in any way, but not in the fucking gutter either. As The Bartender ordered for something he definitely ask for for Mike, some inkling of 'Oh Fuck' might have crossed his mind, but was replaced with him attempting to fix it. He would attempt to get the other worker's attention, but she was already gone around the corner.

    Mike would then realize that The Bartender is being both the good cop and the bad cop.

    As he spoke, it left a shiver down Mike's spine. He hasn't heard anyone talk to him in that way. He could tell there was a caring behind it, but it felt so personal and directed that it almost would make him uncomfortable. Like he was being pulled aside and given "a stern talkin' to" like, but from someone who actually gives a shit and understands his predicament. It was incredibly trippy for him in the moment, seeming to snap back into his head when the nice girl returned with the meal, giving a smile and his thanks.

    He would be silent for a moment, not touching either the drink or the food yet. Mike definitely wanted to say something, but he couldn't really pin down what. Bartender was right and had his number decently enough to drop the hammer nice and neatly. Agreeing would mean fucking nothing, and he wasn't gonna promise to do better when he's just starting in that regard, a promise like that would be fucking useless. He would just resolve to give a nod, taking a large sip out of his drink.

    He's just gonna need just a tad bit of time to formulate his thoughts. Apologize and do his best to make it up to the friends he dipped on and hopefully still have them around. Or, if not, not hurting them to the point of ruining all the cool shit they've been doing prior to his abrupt entry into their life. Minus Soren, he kinda started doing cool shit partway through Mike's crash through his window.

    "So what have I missed?" Attempting to change the subject given the temperature is finally starting to rise back from the sub-zero heart stopper he just had happen to him thirty seconds prior, if he could. Despite saying maybe three sentences, his throat felt tight as shit. Gods this is going to be a rough day, it feels like.

[Sparky]

    There wasn't even so much as a nod. The Bartender waited silently for Mike's first bite of food, before finally allowing the weight to fall off. Closing his eye, the older man allowed a slow exhale from his nose. Back to normal, back to work. As much as the man internally wanted Mike to eat a proper meal, he wasn't going to cram his fatherly instincts down the redhead's throat. Not yet, anyways. Not unless the boy forced his hand. 

    At Mike's question, there was a pause. For once, The Bartender actually had to think about what he needed to say. Usually, when someone arrived at his counter, the information they needed was important. Required payment. This was technically casual conversation, but only just began to stray into gossip territory. Mike had missed a lot. And there was little The Bartender could say that wouldn't make the boy feel guilty in some manner. More than he already did, of course. The man slowly picked up another glass and began wiping it down, mulling over his words carefully. 

    "A few compatriots from Luke's past have settled down locally, it seems. I'm training one of them while she works here part time. Not giving away too many of the details, she and my daughter apparently have some plans to try and weasel Luke into a love confession." Start with the lighthearted stuff. That tended to go down a bit easier, and it gave Mike something to laugh about. "Soren is still keeping up his training with Lyndon." And that's where the sweet ended slightly. "Other than that, I suppose Soren has been otherwise concerned with your whereabouts. As for Luke..." The Bartender set down the glass in its place and picked up another, rinsed it, and began the process again. "... to put it lightly, your absence hasn't set as well with him. Perhaps it would be best for him to say more about that." 

    Right on cue, the doors to the Triangle swung open as the punk techie stepped inside. It was a quiet, skulking entrance, devoid of energy or expression save for the young man's clinical case of RBF. Until halfway to the bar the boy's eyes fell upon a familiar redhead, and his footsteps stopped. A various mix of emotions passed over Luke's expression, none of them happy. The young techie closed in on Mike's seat. Stopped right next to him. Stared. The fingers of his gloved hand flexed repeatedly, clearly attempting to decide if he wanted to punch the redhead smack in the jaw. 

    The answer was yes, most definitely.

    But then came the question of if he should. There was a definite bitterness in Luke's expression. A clear hurt that shone in his silver gaze. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the young man turned his head away. "Tch." Keeping his distance, the young man picked his seat two barstools away from the other boy. "I'll have a Ruby Special, please." Luke's voice was low, his eyes angry, certainly, but infinitely more tired.

[Sora-No]

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    Mike would nod at what Bartender says, his eyes twitching towards the door before looking away. That lump that was in his throat when just talking to the Bartender? Well, double that- nah, fuck that, triple that feeling. It was a surprise he wasn't wheezing for air with the golf ball currently eating at his esophagus. While his glance didn't meet Luke's, he was 100% certain he'd be recognized immediately on him actually looking around.

    He was hoping he'd have some time to actually think of what to say before having to say things.

    He would hold on to his glass, using it to get a glance at Luke. See what the vibe was, see if he could actually turn around. His consensus? No, he cannot. He could see Luke's form rigid, almost shaking on the idea of Mike being back. He couldn't see his face, but he could see his hands shaking, going from balled into a fist to fully extended palms. Like he couldn't tell whether or not to get his licks in on Mike's head to screw it back on straight. Which, honestly, was 100% valid, given Mike was a big fucking brianlet of a friend.

    He would take a bite out of his mozz, chewing it for a moment as Luke sat down, before speaking lowly, his tone low enough that the only people that could hear it would be him and Luke. And probably the Bartender, given his psychic powers of Reading the Room. "I deserve it, so go ahead and get your licks in." He was most certainly not going to stop Luke, if that meant anything.

[Sparky]

[Refs]

    By the time the phrase "I deserve it" left Mike's lips, Luke was already moving. Jaw set hard, eyes narrow and harsh. The other boy barely had time to finish his sentence before Luke's right hook connected. People looked up from their drinks and conversations, while The Bartender watched. The techie grit his teeth and balled his fists until they shook. But he didn't swing again. Seeing this, The Bartender made no moves to intervene, and the Big Man's calm settled the rest of the patrons. After a moment, a Ruby Special was set down on the counter. 

    "Fuck you, you want your 'licks?' Try these." Luke jerked a thumb towards himself. "I took care of your apartment while you were in the hospital." Bitter resentment dripped off every word. A cold feeling of betrayal that clung to his spine like ice. "Visited you while you were knocked the fuck out. I was ready to go to fuckin' war for your ass." Luke needed to hit something. He needed to hit something solid and he needed to hit it hard. In movies and shows, this would be the moment one character would slam their fist on the counter. The young man had more respect for The Bartender than to treat the man's club like that. No need to draw the eyes back their way anyways. His expression was contorted, silver eyes staring deep into the red drink.

    Anything to avoid looking at the red head. 

    Gloves strained, nails bit into the leather palm. "I was waiting for you. The whole fuckin time. All these fuckin plans I had in mind. Places to hang out." Every word just sunk Luke's heart deeper and deeper. His voice shook. A mixture of emotions that roiled in his throat, but couldn't settle. "I was going to introduce you to my old friends and we were gonna fuck shit up together." Finally relenting on his palm, the boy combed the gloved fingers through his hair. "I was waiting for the day you were gonna get out the hospital. And then you did, and you fucking vanished again. And you know, at first, I thought, aight. Dude got his fuckin ass handed to him. Probably needs some time to work it out, right? He'll check in, not like he'd just up and fuckin ditch." He laughed, but it was not a happy sound.

    "So there I fuckin was. Waiting like a good boy for his pops to come home after getting smokes. How fuckin' stupid was I? And you know... the first month, I still held out hope you'd try to reach me?" The young punk continued to laugh, shaking his head as he did so. "Three months. Three fuckin' months. Not a peep. Not a knock, not a text, not even so much as a fuckin carrier pigeon." The young man's gaze finally leveled onto Mike. It was harsh, steely. "And here you fuckin are. Slap my ass and call me fuckin braindead, because apparently I seem to have mistaken where we stood last time we talked. If you wanted me to fuck off back to the hole I crawled out of, the least you could have done is say that shit to my face yourself."

    The young man swept up his drink, dropped into his seat, and took a long drink. The glass set down easy, barely making a sound over the background ambiance. "Instead of skulking back in here with your tail tucked between your legs." His gaze was no longer on Mike, giving the other young man that much breathing room at least. "Your bitch-ass went on some sorta grand fuckin training montage, right asshole?" And then it came back, scouring the other boy up and down. Once the assessment was over, the punk squinted and looked away again.

    "Not only do you come back thinner than a sheet of shitty motel toilet paper, you also have the fuckin balls to jack my style too." As the last part left the young man's lips, he lifted his cloth-bound arm and waved it idly. Finally, silence settled back over the counter as the techie once again brought up the drink and took a sip. 

    Seems like he was holding onto that for a while. 
    

[Sora-No]

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    Mike's head would snap to the side as Luke's knuckles connected with his face, stumbling off the stool and catching himself on solid footing. Despite this, his head was clear as he listened to Luke yelling straight at him. Words iced with truth and venom in equal dosages. There was genuine hurt and rage behind it as he railed Mike for being- surprise -an asshole. He would rub at his face for a moment, before sitting back down. His eyes wouldn't meet Luke's as he twirled his drink, taking a deep breath.

    "Nah, no real training montage shit. I just- I realized I was a shitty dude, dude." He would take a short, quick sip out of his drink, hoping to dislodge the buildup in his chest. "If everyone around you's an asshole, the asshole's actually you, y'know?" His tone was level, calm. There was no real thoughts behind what he was saying, his mouth kind of spilling out his feelings with no real conference with his head on the matter.

    "Well, I ended up getting fucked up because I was- surprise -an asshole. I didn't call him out in a mindful manner, wasn't peaceful. I was aggressive, I walked straight up into his face, grabbed him, and called his bullshit out straight to his face." A shrug, another sip out of his drink, "Even if he's a scumbag, even a calm person wouldn't have taken that right, and I got knocked on my ass and left reeling. My first thought was, 'I'm gonna get strong enough to kick his ass', and that's all I focused on."

    "There was no thinking of anyone else around me, there was barely any consideration for myself, and I almost died for it. And once I was lucky enough to not do so, my first thought was to run away and figure out this new thing instead of working on my shit." His tone finally wavered for a moment as his head caught up to his words, and it caught his breath for a moment. In for an inch, go for the mile, it would seem, as he continued spewing words.

    "So, when I finally came to my senses, I realized I was a huge douche. Just a piece of refuse that somehow backflipped into people's lives. My first thought was to not come back, let you guys focus on your lives and stop being a shitter in it. But no, y'all wanted me around, so me doing that would me being a selfish asshole for the millionth time, so I came back instead."

    He would get up, approaching Luke. His gait was even, his posture as lax as it always is. He would lean in, his tone hardening as if certainty was dripped into his words, "So you better have better insults than that, or we can head outside and you can work your frustration till your knuckles are sore on my fantastic features, cause I'm back. And I'm gonna be, hopefully, less of prick than I already was. Savvy?" Not waiting for a reply, he would walk outside. His brain screaming at himself as he somehow still held his composure to not scream or yell. If Luke followed, either to mash his face like potatoes or actually talk, then cool. But if he didn't, it made sense.

[Sparky]

[Refs]

    There were a lot of things Luke expected to come out of Mike's mouth. Bitter excuses. Perhaps an array of insults. For months, the punk techie had run through his mind what he would say. What might happen if they ever saw one another again. The kind of excuses the redhead would put forth in a desperate bid to dodge responsibility. Luke was prepared for it all. Expecting nothing but shitty words that he had an excuse to shove right the fuck down Mike's throat. What the young punk wasn't expecting...

    Was honesty. 

     As Mike passed behind him, the punk didn't look. Silver eyes just burned deep into his drink. Question. Insults. Frustration. The young man swallowed them all down along with the rest of his drink. He and The Bartender exchanged a glance, and Luke sighed. Mumbled. Grumbled. The Bartender only seemed to loom further over the boy, who continued to grumble at an accelerated pace. In a wordless show of surrender, he slapped down the gold for his drink and chased after the redhead. He could feel the aura of smug victory burning into the back of his neck as the old man's one good eye watched him make his exit. 

    Luke burst outside, walked up the steps, and turned sharply towards the other boy. For a moment, his eyes burned into the other young man with a heated intensity. Footsteps echoed in the air as the punk marched up to Mike. Though, marching was putting it lightly. Any faster and it could charitably be called a charge. Once more the gloves balled into fists, and the young man raised one high. Extended it. Swung it down. And grabbed Mike's right wrist, yanking it towards himself. "You wrapped this wrong, dumbass." He muttered bitterly, pulling off the cloth for another go. 

    Deft hands unwound the wrappings. "Lucky for you, these won't scar too bad, but the wrapping's water proof, so remove them before you shower." There was no punch. No violence. No hostility. Luke was frustrated. Gods was he frustrated. That wouldn't go away for a while, especially after Mike fucking smoke bombed out of existence for as long as he did. The young punk pulled the wrapping firm. Not tight, but more secure. 

    Working on wrapping someone else's burnt forearm, Luke couldn't help but grin. "Fuck's with people and going for the right arm? Don't they know we use these to jack off?" The joke had bitter tinges, but it broke the silence. Chipped away some of the tension. The punk tested the wrappings on the other young man. Checked to make sure they wouldn't slip, that they were secure. "I blamed myself after you left." Words muttered just loud enough to avoid being considered a whisper. Dripping with an unseen pain. "Last time we talked it was that heavy shit... And then you dropped. I thought I was the one who pushed you away when all I wanted was to try to bring people closer for once."

    And then came a quick gut jab. 

    Sudden, sharp. But not heavy. Not a "I'm gonna fucking kill you" punch, but a friendly "you're a cunt" punch. "Then you go and admit that it was all you. Man, can't a guy have a lick of self loathing in this damn town without other people stealing that shit?" For the first time, Luke's eyes met Mike's properly. No hostility, no hurt. By gods was the frustration still there, but, Luke was always frustrated by something. "You're not gonna fuck off like that again, right? I wanna get your fuckin' word on that. Hand to whatever God gives the most fucks. " 

[Sora-No]

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    He would turn quickly, expecting Luke to kick his lily ass twelve ways from Sunday. But he would tilt his head as Luke decided to... work on his wrappings? As the dark haired boy took it off, he would see that it wasn't actually still a burn. A patch of scarred tissue, going from the edge of his wrist along and up to the middle of his forearm. Well, most of it was scarred, minus the outer area of it, which was lined in red from scratches, which was what the wrappings were for. It looked almost as if it the flame erupted out of his veins, causing collateral on its way through. It looked kinda cool, in a gross as hell way.

    Mike would chuckle, "What, you think I need to do that? I can chat up someone if I want to deal with that, I could be a paraplegic and I'd still be vibing." Which is halfway a lie. Especially after what happened in his apartment last. He's gonna have to get some candles and shit, inviting someone to his place to vibe where he casually almost bled out and just- left the blood there for like three months, doesn't really give the vibe of "peak ambiance". At least he fucking hopes not, some people are into that and he quite likes his fruit punch staying in his body.

    The redhead would give a sigh as Luke spoke, "Well, it's not at all your issue there, chief. I kinda walked into an oil rig with a match and-" There would be a gasp, and an edge of a breathy "ack you're an asshole" leave his mouth as he huddled for a moment. He would give a staggered laugh, standing up straight once more.

    "No, I'm not gonna up and disappear without a word." Luke would then be met with an equally forceful jab to the same area as him, Mike shaking his hand a bit afterwards as  he took a couple steps back. In case of retaliation. He would then shrug, "Might dip here and there, but I'll at least give a heads up beforehand so you're not questioning how shots with the boys turned into getting ghosted on the first date." The man would wink, his signature sly grin coloring his features.

    "Now, as fun as this is, I did just leave where I needed to be, gotta get some work so I can stick in the place I ditch like morals after ten shots." He would turn back inside, giving a nod of his head, "and I gotta finish the mozz sticks, otherwise I'm gonna feel like a huge shitter."

[Sparky]

[Refs]

    A sigh escaped Luke's lips. Mike certainly didn't change much. Not like Luke was one to talk. You know, Mister I'll-kick-your-ass-and-then-my-own. And just like that. Shit was mostly back to normal. Ish. The punk still felt burnt, and that was going to linger. But otherwise, Mike was back. Dude had his own shit to work out, but hopefully the redhead learned his lesson. Last thing anyone needed was for him to take the absolute wrong thing away from this entire situation. Luke looked towards the door of the Triangle as Mike headed for it. Hesitated. The young punk came to this place for a reason. But, now it just felt weird going back in. 

    Next time. 

    "Hey. Lemme know when you're free. I wanna introduce you to some old friends." Wow, Luke had friends before Mike and Soren? Fuckin' shocker. "You got the number to my ResLink, so just. Hit me up." Nothing more left Luke's lips. Once he said his piece, the young man turned, and went on his way. No beat down. No scolding. Just an attempt to recoup on lost time and make new plans. Redhead might have ditched. But the techie was going to make an attempt to work him back into his life. 

    Back inside the club, The Bartender remained exactly where Mike left him. One eye lingered on the door, then flicked back towards the young man. "Congratulations. You've returned with your bones still intact. And your food is even still warm."