"i'm addicted to your scent,

your aura,

your confidence,

but i'm still in denial,

so let's pretend i don't know."

"You again?" The bartender spoke once Jackson sat down on the stool. There was a slight hint of humor shadowing his voice. 

Jackson breathily chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck. 

He laid his chin down on the countertop and fished out his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. He typed in the password and opened his favorite game, Plague Inc.

He had a much better outfit worn today than his last visit. His ripped skinny jeans censored his [ very ] hairy legs and hugged it very nicely, highlighting it's build. His white raglan shirt with maroon sleeves barely hid anything underneath it. 

"Want anything new? Or the same?" The bartender asked, propping his elbows down on the counter. His brown eyes connected to Jackson's pair, and Jackson could see everything beneath those long eyelashes [ like the specks of black scattered among the vastness of brown, almost blending in with the brighter shade but can still be distinguished when looked at closely. ] 

Jackson shrugged, bottom lip curling slightly. He really didn't know. In fact, he didn't know a lot of things. Such as what were the drinks served here and their corresponding prices. Such as why he even came here in the first place.

The bartender took that as a signal of 'meh, i don't care' and proceeded to mix the same beverage he did yesterday for him. He swayed his hips flamboyantly, like he always does. 

Jackson noticed it, though. Noticed how those hips danced left and right, sensually and eye-catchingly. Jackson thought he might need a cold shower, right at this moment, but it'd be rude to just leave the bartender alone when he's already mixing his drink.

A shot glass was dropped in front of him, making a sound that startled Jackson to no end. He tried to hide it, though, he really did. His back immediately straightened as his eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips. 

The bartender resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the customer's action, as it was against company policies [ 100% tolerance to the drunk and drugged, unless they do anything violent or stupid like break a glass. ] 

Jackson cleared his throat, gaze landing on something and instantly averting. He avoided the direction of the bartender, afraid to find him laughing or containing his booming laughter. Simply because that would cause a bruise to his pride and ego.

He chugged down the contents of the glass and signalled for another one. Today, he was going to try and keep his consciousness to him, and not let the intoxicating alcohol get to him. He wanted to inspect--yes, inspect. Not stare or anything, nope, just inspect--at the magnificent bartender without any drunken thoughts that would cause haywire to his mind.

Usually, when Jackson tells himself to do something, he succeeds. For example, when he told himself one time to just man the up and go out on a date with his wife, he manned the up and asked her out. 

This time's different, though. He told himself not to get too drunk, but what happened was the exact opposite. He got slammed drunk. Which was still kind of an understatement considering how Jackson couldn't even form a coherent thought about how y the bartender looks when he ually sways his hips, or how attractive a lopsided smirk looks on his blemish-free face.

♦

He wasn't even aware that he fell asleep.

He woke up with another pounding headache, much more intense than the other one. He groaned in agony as he lifted his head up from the counter, the bones on his back and neck crunching and making alarming sounds. However, he sighed in relief when he found no traces of drool nearby his mouth or the place where his head was a few seconds ago.

"Just like the first time you were here, hm?" The bartender joked. Sweat made his forehead glisten under the sunlight that crept it's way inside through the unfiltered window. His hair that was in a quiff had droplets of sweat on the surface, but it still remained strong and standing up.

Jackson couldn't bring himself to be even a tad bit grumpy. If it wasn't for the symphony that was the bartender's voice that welcomed his morning, he'd be sulking over life and everything. 

A pathetic, awkward chuckle formed on the back of his throat and forced it's way out. It was anything but relaxed, but the bartender understood his customer's situation. Hangovers were painful and heavy.

"Listen--I really have to go." Jackson mumbled, patting his jeans to get rid of dust or dirt. He pushed the stool backwards and got up, legs numb but still functioning the way he wanted it too.

"A carbon copy of your first time. You forgot to pay, sir." The bartender rolled his eyes, one hand on Jackson's chest and the other hanging on mid-air, awaiting the texture of paper bills to make contact with his clammy palm.

Jackson frantically shuffled to get his wallet out. He grabbed forty dollars--again--and shoved it into his sweaty hand. Jackson sheepishly grinned at the amused gaze of the bartender before sprinting out of the venue.

♦

Jackson scrunched up his nose in disgust. The living room reeked of . and the substances associated with it; and sweat. 

The throw pillows were scattered on the floor. The fabric of the sofa was drenched. 

Jackson grew dubious, eyes shrinking to slits. Doubts were forming on the back of his head and he didn't like it, not even a single bit. 

He was aware that he was accusing and pointing fingers without no form of evidence, but his skeptical brain had other opinions. Either his wife brought another man home, or this was a terrible prank played by a terrible person.

hahaha my laptop is broken haha sobs

so basically i'm gonna post chapters i've prewritten and i'd have to wait for a new laptop [or suffer under the harsh and difficult keyboard of my ipad] in order to write. idek. life, why.

anyways, how's life? mine's definitely not good, but let's not focus on that.

until next update, yow. enjoy life, people.