The week at the bar blurs as both he and Ben work longer shifts than ever. Ben takes the morning every day and Shane the evening, while Ben works on hiring a second person. The most Shane has been able to do is walk home, crash, and shower, then go back to the bar. By the time Shane gets to Friday, he’s lost all sense of time.

Shane has spent most of his life with one question following him, what do you want to do? For the last eight years, he’s ignored this question with a singular focus. It’s as if his entire life has boiled down to two or three things, the bar, his home, and the places in between. And he’s been fine with that. The comfort of routine, knowing every step his day would take. He may never have an answer to, what do you want? But he knows his own mind. He knows his neighborhood and recognizes the people that pass him. Everything has been settled and he expected the rest of his life to be much the same.

Quiet. Ordinary. Peaceful.

And then his life was upended. Now, Shane is contemplating smashing all the liquor bottles in the bar. He’s jittery and his entire body feels restless. As if there’s excess energy that needs to get out somehow. Shane can’t remember the last time he felt like that.

The years have blurred together into a quiet interlude, right up to this moment, where the quiet shattered, and now Shane is left with this sense of longing. Like he’s finally been chasing, what do you want to do? And gotten on track to answer it, only for the answers to have been ripped away.

It doesn’t help that the bar is never deader than on a Sunday. All that’s left for Shane to do is sit, stare at his regulars slumped over their tables, and pretend to read.

His phone buzzing provides him with a distraction, if not a happy one. Actually, there are a multitude of texts he hasn’t answered from various cast members. A good amount from Charlie, some from Grace, and some from Stefan. A few from Sam even, the bastard. All asking where he was and how he was doing. Most of them have been from Violet, usually coming once a day, always with a different tone.

Today, she’s angry.

VIOLET: I can’t believe I trusted you not to flake.

There are a slew of texts like that from her that have come in at varying times, none of which he answered.

Today though, today he’s tired. Without thinking, he sends his first reply.

SHANE: What do you want from me?

Her answer comes immediately.

VIOLET: Oh I see you’re talking to me.

SHANE: Come on.

VIOLET: It’s only been like 10 years.

VIOLET: For all i knew

VIOLET: You could’ve died.

Theater people. Always so god damn dramatic.

SHANE: died?

SHANE: are you serious.

VIOLET: dead serious.

Shane gapes at his phone. In their decade of friendship, Shane had never known Violet to make a pun on purpose. An honest to God joke. Apparently, the play had broken her.

SHANE: christ Violet.

SHANE: I said I’m sorry.

VIOLET: i just thought it would be different this time.

VIOLET: that you wouldn't flake out on me.

SHANE: it’s not like I wanted to violet. Shit happens.

VIOLET: yeah shit always just happens to you.

VIOLET: Stop victimizing yourself and commit to something.

There it is again. Commit to something. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Shane forces himself not to chuck his phone away and turns it off again instead.

He reflects, and he knows he’d like to commit to something. He doesn’t know if that’s acting. In fact, he suspects he couldn’t take the stress of trying to act full-time for the rest of his life. But for the brief period he’d thrown himself into it, it was like the world had grown brighter. Places stopped blurring together and the space around him felt new again. Shane had almost forgotten what caring about something felt like.

Shane hated to admit it, but it wasn’t just the play that had done it. A pair of twinkling blue eyes and a blunt demeanor that could knock anyone over helped.

A deeply unpleasant feeling comes whenever Shane thinks about Adam. The last time he had seen him…well, he’s pretty sure he screwed everything up on that end.

And he tells himself he’s fine with it. Absolutely fine. The other man hasn’t dropped by Shane’s bar since that night and they never exchanged phone numbers, so neither could contact the other.

Shane tells himself it’s better this way, a clean break. After all, how would someone like Adam even fit into Shane’s life? Adam is fire, passion and energy, while Shane is…Shane’s the warm whiskey that’s been sitting on the bar a little too long, and you leave it because you’re done with the night and just want to go home. Adam would always be someone who’s striving, and Shane could never keep up with that.

It’s going on seven when Ben shuffles back into the bar, along with a small trickle of customers for happy hour. He’s been appearing often between shifts, just like he did when Shane and Sam worked the bar alone. This week, though, he looks more tired than usual, eyes sinking deeper into his skull. He joins Shane behind the counter, pressing his elbows on to the top, the extra skin folding down.

“Dead tonight, huh?” Ben strokes his beard. The gray has become more prominent in his beard of late, the jet-black fading away to charcoal.

Shane stares at Ben and wonders if this will be him in the future. “Did you always want to do this, Ben?”

“What?” Ben grunts, beady brown eyes observing the lack of customers.

“Own a bar?” It’s the first time Shane’s ever thought to ask.

“Who knows. It was just something to do at the time,” Ben straightens, arching his back until it cracks audibly. “Sometimes, life’s funny like that. You fall into something and then ten, twenty years later, you’re still doing it,” Ben grins and Shane thinks the bags under his eyes look even more prominent than usual.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Ben studies Shane for a moment and he wonders what it is Ben sees. Then, he claps Shane on the shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. “Don’t have that worried look on your face, Shane. You’re young, it’s not time for you to worry about life yet.”

Maybe not. But it’s well past time Shane did something about it.

Without thinking, he picks up his phone and re-opens his chat with Violet.

SHANE: ok

SHANE: I messed up

SHANE: and i’ll never say this again

SHANE: but you were right

SHANE: I’ll think of something to come back.

SHANE: if you still want me.

Shane’s confidence in that last statement doesn’t last long. It’s great to say it but the reality feels crushing. What is he going to do? Quit his job? He imagines telling Ben he can only do certain shifts, but he’d rather not get an actual liquor bottle slammed over his head. Not to mention, he has rent.

He could quit his job. Shane mulls that one over. Is he really ready to commit like that? What then? He’d have to find another bartending job after this, that would probably pay less and wouldn't pay his rent.

Shane really is no good at this whole commitment thing.

A memory strikes him. During one of their rehearsals, he’d asked how long Adam had known he wanted to go into acting. Adam had blinked at him. “Forever.”

Shane has more to learn from Adam than he realized.

He pulls out his phone again, but Violet still hasn’t responded. Perhaps she’s given up on him. Instead, he texts Charlie.

SHANE: do you have Adam’s number?

The cast must be in the midst of rehearsals, but Charlie responds instantly, the number first and then, Glad to see you’re not dead, buddy.

Shane feels like a dick for ignoring her, but he promises himself he’ll make it up to her soon. It’s time to be impulsive again, even if he crashes and burns. He shoots a quick text, adam it’s shane

He stares at the blue bubble on screen and wills Adam to answer. But unlike with Charlie, ten minutes later, there’s still no response. He tells himself it’s just because they’re in rehearsal, but the silence from the other end feels oppressive. What if Adam decided he didn’t want to talk to Shane again?

Shane supposes he can’t blame Adam for that. If that was the case, Shane should just leave him alone. That’s what he would’ve done in the past.

Shane opens his phone up again. Heart pounding, his fingers move before he can stop them, typing, I liked being around you, too.

When there’s still no reply, Shane tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. Besides, he still has to figure out a way to go back to rehearsal. And he has to figure it out now, if the play is going to be performed next week. He looks around the bar, as if that would give him any ideas. It’s the same as always, with the slightly moldy looking ceiling, and the worn-down chairs, with the wood peeling off them. One of their regulars has fallen asleep on the table in the back, and Shane doubts even the entire cast yelling at him would wake him up.

It clicks then.

“Hey, Ben.”

The owner, who has plopped himself down on one of the stools as he goes through their account books, grunts. “What?”

“How do you feel about Shakespeare?”

* * *

It takes some convincing, but once Shane points out that the actors will probably buy drinks, Ben caves. Not to mention, it could be seen as a selling point for some customers. At the end of the day, nothing matters to Ben more than money, especially when profits are down.

Violet, for her part, is skeptical over the phone when he pitches her the idea. “Fine,” she eventually says. “But you’re going to have to convince everyone. They’re already mad at me as it is.”

“Just bring them down here. After that…”

Well, he’s not exactly sure what will happen after that but Shane’s embracing the impulsiveness of this decision and decides he’ll wing it.

“If you pull this off, I’ll take back every mean thing I’ve said about you,” Violet is saying.

“Can I get that in writing?”

Violet laughs and the sound warms Shane to the core. It’s only been a week, but he’s missed the sound of her laugh.

And so, Shane braces himself as the entire cast pours into his bar. It’s a bit like watching cats being herded, all of them somewhat wary as they enter, but gaining confidence as they make their way further into the bar and spread out.

Ben gives them one look before he mutters. “No way am I sticking around for this shit show,” then disappears into the back room.

Violet stalks up to the counter first. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to slap him, but she only settles for knocking her fist against his shoulder. “I have never been more proud of you,” she grabs his hand over the counter, much too pleased with the situation than she should be. “Staging a dramatic meeting? You’ve really become one of us.”

“What can I say. You rubbed off on me over the years.”

Slowly, the cast begins to settle, everyone grabbing seats. Violet hops on the counter itself, leaving everyone else to spread out into the seating at the bar or stand. Charlie blows a kiss and waggles her brows, while Grace and Stefan give small waves. Shane, despite himself, only seeks out one person. Adam has settled next to Cynthia, though he doesn’t look particularly pleased to be sitting near Kyle.

Then he looks directly at Shane and Shane stops breathing. Adam’s gaze is as unwavering as he is. Shane knows he saw his message from earlier. He forces himself not to look away, and holds his stare firmly, hoping it conveys…something, somehow.

The spell is broken when Kyle leans over Cynthia to whisper something to Adam. Whatever it is, causes Adam to flush enormously and bite something back at the man that has Kyle leaning quickly away. Shane pities Cynthia and how weary she looks.

Before bloodshed breaks out, Violet holds her hand up. The cast quiets instantly. Adjusting her glasses, her eyes sweep over the cast, and they tense up, seemingly unsure what to expect. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Shane and I’ve been talking and, well, he has an idea for the play. I’d appreciate it if you listen to him.”

The group exchanges glances and Shane can’t blame them for looking doubtful. He would be, too, of an actor that’s been shaky not only in his commitment to the play, but also in his abilities. For the first time that evening, Shane regrets being impulsive. Who was he to think he could demand anything from these people?

Then, he meets Adam’s gaze again. This time, Adam raises his chin slightly as if to challenge him.

Shane straightens. “Thanks, everyone, for coming,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. “I know you don’t really have any reason to.”

“Except for Violet threatening to murder us with her stare, no,” Stefan says, causing the rest of the cast to laugh.

“Violet would never murder,” Grace says, leaning around Charlie, her voice calm and rational. “Only maim.”

“Emotionally though, not physically,” Charlie says.

Stefan laughs and the three high-five, even as Violet groans. “Guys. Come on.”

Just from that, the entire atmosphere of the cast has shifted. They seem more relaxed, leaning back in their seats, and Shane thanks the three with a nod. Feeling bolstered, he leans forward, spreading his hands on the counter. “I’m going to make you guys a proposal. I’ve been MIA because of well, this,” he gestures toward the bar itself. “But I’m hoping you guys might consider taking me back to the cast and using the bar as rehearsal space in the meantime, while the stage gets completely fixed again.”

He looks down at the bar, as everyone murmurs to themselves. He thinks he should stop there, but something seems to take ahold of him. When he looks up again, the words begin pouring out of his mouth before he can even stop them. “Look, I know I was shit in the beginning. And to ask you guys to do this is a big deal. But I really enjoyed working with everyone and I would hate to have to throw all that work away for no reason. I’ll understand if you disagree, but I hope you enjoyed working with me too.”

Christ, that was too mushy, wasn’t it? Shane clamps his mouth shut, gaze darting over the entire cast. No one is jumping in excitement, but no one is saying no either.

Finally, Cynthia’s the first to speak. “So, we would rehearse here, is what you’re saying?”

Shane nods. “That’s right.”

“I don’t mind,” drawls Chad, Egeus’ actor. “It’s closer to my apartment, anyway.”

There’re a few murmured agreements about that. Shane holds his breath, not daring to hope quite yet.

Not everyone is happy, naturally. Or, to be more specific, one person in particular. Kyle, who’s already managed to snag a drink, looks as pleased as a wet cat. “This is ridiculous. How are we supposed to do blocking here?”

“It’s not ideal,” Violet agrees.

“Just think of the counter as the audience and the bar floor as the stage,” Grace says, indicating both.

“Yeah, and what happens when we keep running into the tables? Or when customers start pouring drinks on us because they’re annoyed? How are we supposed to even prepare like that?” Kyle tosses back the rest of his drink, wiping at the excess liquid that coats his lips.

Shane hates to admit it, but it’s a good point, and something he hadn’t stopped to consider when the idea first popped into his head. The rest of the cast clearly thinks so too, since no one is saying anything. Uneasily, Shane exchanges glances with Violet. She purses her lips at him, shrugging her shoulders. Apparently, it’s up to him to save this. Taking a deep breath, he turns back to meet everyone’s gaze head on.

“Kyle’s right,” he says. A few cast members look surprised, but he forges on. “This isn’t the most convenient. But think of it this way, if we can perform in a loud, ugly, piss-smelling bar, then performing on stage will be easy,” he’s seeing some nods now, a good sign, so he goes in with his biggest selling point. “Besides, think about it, how many people have put together a play in a bar? Shakespeare used to write his best work while in taverns. Just think of this as connecting with the writer.”

He has no idea if it was the truth, his major had been English, not history. Yet, it seems to pique everyone’s interest. If he’s learned one thing about actors, it’s that they enjoy impossible situations, and feeling like they’re connecting with their work. They enjoy the drama of the stage, the difficulty of the process in some ways, or at least this cast seems to. And rehearsing a stage show at a bar? That’s a novelty few would be able to find.

Grace speaks up first, eyes alight. “I wonder if we could maybe get some press out of this? Sell more tickets? The headlines would be nice. Something like, “Theater Hoppers: Theater Group Moves to Bar to Rehearse.””

“Oh, that’s good,” Violet says, an approving smile on her face. “I know someone who works at Time Out. They’d probably take it.”

And that sets everyone off into chaos as they begin suggesting headlines and article spins. Everyone’s so excited Shane can barely hear any specific conversations over the roar. He can’t help it, feeling a large grin overtaking his face, and he’s so grateful no one is shooting his idea down.

Violet leans back a little, her voice low. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.”

“Too much?”

“Just dramatic enough for them. Although I think they’re more excited about imaginary press right now,” she says dryly.

“You’re not?”

“I’ll be excited about the idea of press after we actually get you back in rehearsal.”

Shane nodded, thinking that was a fair point.

“At least we won’t be smelling burnt vinyl anymore,” Cynthia says, swinging her legs.

The cast murmurs their agreement. The smell had lingered heavily after the stage light fire.

Kyle, however, still looks mutinous, and perfectly happy to smell burnt rubber for the rest of his life. “We don’t need to go to so much trouble for one actor, though. We’ve got Mr. Nosy over there.”

Everyone swings their heads to look at Adam. Up to this point, he’s been unusually quiet, and he surveys the cast with an unreadable expression. His head is without his usual work cap, and his curls look more alive than ever. Then he spreads his hands and hops off the chair he claimed in the back.

“Look at it this way,” he starts, as he strides forward until he’s directly in front of the bar counter. Shane knows he’s only doing that to address the entire cast, but the two of them have locked gazes and he can’t look away. Adam smirks, expression as devious as Shane has ever seen, before he whirls away from Shane to face the cast again. “I’ll refuse to play either character, unless Shane is in the role. Then what? You have to rehearse two other actors in a week?”

“Not ideal at all,” Charlie pipes up. “And I won’t play Hermia if neither Adam nor Shane are here.”

“Really not ideal,” Violet says, but there’s a wild smirk on her face as she looks over to Kyle. “Sorry, Kyle. Looks like my hands are tied.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kyle glances back and forth, but when none of the other members say anything, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Actors,” Kyle says, like it’s a curse. “Fine. Just remember when this play is a disaster on opening night, I protested.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be sure to put it in writing,” Violet now looks back to Shane. “Okay, I’ll take over your position while you rehearse.”

Shane doesn’t think he heard her right at first, until she’s swinging her legs over the counter and hopping down to stand next to him. By the time she’s grabbed his rag and is pouring herself a shot of scotch, Shane finally regains his senses. “You’re joking.”

“Do I ever joke?” Violet knocks back the shot of scotch, leaving Shane gaping.

“But you hate this bar.”

“I think I’m becoming fond of the piss smell,” she almost manages to look wistful as she says it, but she can’t quite hide the wrinkle in her nose. Some battles, Shane figures, just can’t be won.

“Wait, we’re not rehearsing again right now?” Stefan says, looking vaguely queasy. “We’ve been in rehearsal since three.”

“We’ve got a week to go, of course we are,” Violet says while shooing Shane to the floor. “Everyone, positions please! Take it from the top!”

Shane nearly stumbles into Adam when he exits the bar

“You know, if you fell on top of me, you’d probably crush me,” Adam remarks, and it’s almost like they never stopped talking in the first place. Almost like Shane never even sent him that text.

There’s something more important to mention though. “Again with the tall jokes?”

“It’s a calling,” Adam says seriously.

“Oh, of course,” they grin at each other, and Shane realizes this is the closest they’ve stood next to each other since…

His eyes dart down to Adam’s mouth, which is still curved into a smug smile, white teeth flashing up at him. Shane’s brain short circuits then, as he furiously tries to think what to say. Nothing comes though, and he’s just left staring.

Something wet and soft hits the back of Shane’s neck and he yelps, spinning around as he reaches up. Thankfully, it’s just his wet rag from the bar. He glares at Violet. She levels him with an unimpressed glance and an overly sweet smile. “Positions please.”

Shane tosses the rag back to her, hoping she knows she has terrible timing. When he turns around, Adam has already disappeared. Well, maybe he used up all his recklessness. Now it’s time to wait.