The Drunk Man

The whiskey in front of him gleamed under the dim bar light, its owner indecisive. Damon hadn’t touched alcohol in almost a decade, partly because of the man he became whenever he was drunk. The other half? He's been able to hold his shirt in place for a while now but the past few weeks haven't been that much of a peaceful time.

He sat alone at the corner of the mahogany counter, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the untouched glass before him. The bartender waltzes around the bar with a tray and soft jazz fills the air, accompanied by the occasional laughter of strangers.

Only a handful of elites knew about this bar. It wasn't a club, just a cosy bar with exclusive membership.

Damon didn’t belong here. He never had. But then again, he hadn’t belonged anywhere lately. Not in the boardroom where his name carried weight, not in the house that felt emptier with every passing day, and certainly not beside the woman who turned his world into something more sensible.

Now Naomi couldn’t even look at him without flinching.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. His reflection in the glass looked tired. The same dark hair, same eyes, but duller now.

He hated this.

He hated that he couldn’t keep it together anymore.

And he hated himself for the distance between them.

“Still thinking about drinking it,” a familiar voice cut in, “or are you just planning to stare the poor whiskey into submission?”

Damon looked up, jaw tightening.

Jordan.

His younger brother stood beside him, grin already tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jordan had always looked like the lighter version of him but Damon never seems to have gotten used to him.

Jordan reminded him of what he could have been; delightful.

Damon muttered, “Didn’t expect you here.”

“Didn’t expect you here either,” Jordan shot back, sliding onto the stool beside him. “The last time I saw you at a bar was centuries ago.”

“If you're here to talk, you're in the wrong spot..”

Jordan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yu sitting here alone in the middle of the night…. that’s not a good look. You okay?”

The last time he spoke to Damon was at the family dinner that ended in a disaster by the way. And their mother wasn't so keen on the idea of him paying Damon a visit after that night.

Damon didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up the glass and took a slow sip.

The burn hit him instantly, searing down his throat, settling heavy in his chest. He let out a slow breath, the taste of it bitter and old.

Jordan arched a brow. “Oh, so he drinks.”

“Apparently.”

“Careful, or I might actually start believing you have feelings.”

“Don’t start, Jordan.”

But his younger brother only grinned wider. “I’m just saying. If you’re going to drown in self-pity, at least do it with style.”

Damon ignored him and downed the rest of the glass. Then another. And another.

After the third, his shoulders relaxed slightly. After the sixth, his words started to blur around the edges.

Jordan leaned back in his chair, watching quietly as the stoic man he’d grown up admiring began to crumble in slow motion.

After the twelfth, Damon set the glass down hard enough to make it rattle. “She hates me,” he muttered, voice low but raw.

Jordan’s grin faded. “ Who? Naomi?”

Damon didn’t look at him. “Who else? Every time I try to explain, she looks at me like I’m the villain in her story.”

“Well,” Jordan said carefully, “you did marry her under less-than-romantic circumstances.”

Damon glared at him.

“Okay, okay,” Jordan said quickly, hands raised. “I’m not saying you don’t have your reasons, but you’ve got to admit… from her side, it’s a mess. You married her to keep her safe, then vanished like a ghost. You never gave her the chance to understand.”

Damon’s hand tightened around the glass. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice came out sharper than he meant. “You think I wanted to disappear? You think it was easy having this distance between us while I…” He cut himself off, his breath uneven.

Jordan watched him quietly. “While you what?”

Damon’s gaze dropped. The liquor made it harder to lie, easier to break. “While I miss her.”

The words hung in the air between them.

He hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until Jordan’s expression softened slightly.

“I see her every damn day but I miss her.” Damon muttered. “Her voice. Her laugh. The way she used to argue with me about everything just to prove a point.”

Jordan leaned forward slightly, his teasing tone gone. “Then why don’t you tell her that?”

Damon gave a dry, bitter laugh. “Because I’ve already done enough damage. She doesn’t need my guilt on top of everything else.”

“You’re not protecting her anymore, Damon. You’re just running from her.”

The words landed heavier than Jordan probably intended, but they were true.

Damon stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the counter, two men staring back at him. The one he used to be, and the one Naomi craved out of him.

He muttered under his breath, “You sound just like Seraphina.”

Jordan smirked faintly. “Yeah, well, someone has to remind you that feeling something doesn’t make you weak.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Damon sighed, the tension draining slowly from his shoulders. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Jordan said easily, patting his shoulder. “Now, come on. Let’s get you home before you start serenading the bar.”

Damon gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “Not happening.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jordan teased as he helped him to his feet. “You’re drunk enough to try.”

♡

The drive home was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. Damon was knocked out by now. When they reached the house, the porch lights were still on. Through the dining room window, Naomi sat at the table, a glass of wine beside her untouched plate. She looked lost in thought, her expression unreadable.

Jordan killed the engine and sighed. “She’s still awake.”

Damon muttered something incoherent.

“Yeah,” Jordan said dryly, opening the door. “You’re definitely drunk.”

He half-carried, half-guided Damon toward the front door. For some reason, none of the staff were around, not even Patrick.

Jordan pushed the front door open, drawing Naomi's attention. Jordan's head pecked in first with a smile.

“Hey, sister in law.”

She got on her feet, eyes widening.

“Jordan?” she asked, hurrying forward. Then she saw Damon slumped against him, and her heart skipped. “What happened to him?”

Jordan gave her a small, apologetic smile. “He got reacquainted with whiskey. Apparently, tonight was the night to drown his demons. And he hadn't had a drink in years.”

Naomi frowned, worry creasing her brow. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said, glancing at his brother. “He did tonight. Because of you, apparently.”

She stiffened. “Me?”

Jordan shrugged lightly. “That’s between you two. He just kept saying your name like it was both his problem and his cure.”

Naomi looked at Damon; his head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded, the hard lines of his face softened. Something twisted inside her.

“Help me get him upstairs,” she said quietly.

Together, they managed to guide him up the staircase and into his room. Jordan exhaled, brushing a hand through his hair. “You should probably stay with him. He’s… not himself tonight.”

Naomi nodded. “I will. Thank you, Jordan.”

Jordan paused at the doorway, eyes flicking between them. “He’s not a bad guy, Sister in law. Just bad with words.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. “I know.”

He nodded once and left quietly, the sound of the front door closing echoing faintly through the hall.

Naomi turned back to Damon. He’d already collapsed back against the bed, his shirt half-open, shoes still on. He looked both infuriating and heartbreakingly human. And handsome for some reason.

She knelt beside him, gently tugging at his shoes. He muttered something, eyes barely open.

“What was that?” she asked softly.

His lips curved slightly, a tired, crooked smile. “You still wear your hair the same.”

She froze, glancing at him. His gaze was unfocused but honest, the drunken haze making him far too open.

“It’s shorter,” she murmured.

She had her hair trimmed when she was staying with Soonie. An act of rebellion of some sort.

He frowned faintly. “Still… looks soft.”

Naomi tried not to smile. “You’re drunk, Damon.”

He chuckled under his breath, voice rough and low. “ Yeah.”

Her heart gave a small, painful thud.

She helped him out of his shirt, trying to ignore how warm his skin felt beneath her hands. He looked up at her then, his expression strangely gentle. “You have the same eyes,” he said quietly. “Same…fire.. Same way of looking at me like you’re trying to figure out if you should hate me or save me.”

Naomi exhaled shakily. “You’re saying a lot for someone who can barely sit up.”

“Maybe. But I'm right.”

She didn’t respond. Her hands trembled slightly as she helped him pull off his belt, then his trousers.

He caught her wrist before she could move away. “Naomi.”

Her breath hitched.

His eyes were darker now, peeking through the alcohol and exhaustion. “

“I'm sorry. For not telling you everything. For being an asshole..”

She swallowed. “You're way worse than that.”

He nodded. “I deserve way worse.” he murmured. “I miss you.”

Her eyes met his. “You should go to bed..”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. “ I will never hurt you, Naomi. Ever. Not this life, not in the next.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his hand trembling. “And that terrifies me."

Before she could answer, he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle, it was desperate. The kind of kiss that felt like years of silence collapsing into one moment. His mouth was warm, rough, unsteady. She tasted the whiskey on his tongue, the ache in his touch, the apology in every breath.

Naomi’s heart stuttered and she let herself respond. Her hands fisting lightly in his hair, her lips parting under his. His fingers brushed her jaw, whispering her name like it was a prayer.

Then he stopped, slumping back into the bed, his eyes closing almost immediately.

Naomi stood there, breathing hard, her fingers brushing her lips as if trying to erase what had just happened.

“Damn you, Damon Sinclair,” she whispered softly, more to herself than to him.

Why the hell would he wake something in her and keep her hanging?! They have serious issues to settle by morning.