One too many

The air is crisp, soothingly caressing her hair, the clicking of her heels is loud, yet so very rhythmic her mind calms, slowly calibrating to be in time with every click-clack.

She cannot return to that house, or find a hotel. Not when things are still so uncertain. Whoever left that message could be watching her right now, and going back to a familiar habitat for the preying freak would give him the upper hand.

A warm, dim, orange light pulls her attention, a beckon in the dark. Aria pauses. The windows are large squares revealing an intimate, homely bar. The earthy tableware creates a muted, soft appearance, and the bright light over the bar counter forms an inviting halo. A tall, blonde man shakes a canister, his white dress shirt is rolled up, tattoos covering tanned skin, his black apron tied neatly.

She can drink herself into a stupor, she supposes it won't do much harm; if her performance sells well Aria can catch a fish, she'll drown him in alcohol, sit back and relax.

Her coat is a fluffy, thick, oversized thing, it makes her seem rounded and short. This girl's closet is a terrible mix of flowery, sweet dresses and hippie, emo artist.

Upon a stroke of luck, at the back of that massive walk-in closet she had pulled out a suitcase of dresses - assumed as the rightful property of the girl's very dead mother. They were in clear plastic bags, lovingly stored; she should have felt the prickle of guilt for breaking the seal. She did not. Aria had taken a cherry red, shimmery dress with a dangerous V-neck, and after 15 minutes of searching found a pair of knee length boots that did not scream 'I'm a fifteen years old teenage girl'. Thank God. When the quest for a jacket proved fruitless, Aria had resigned herself to this pink monstrosity.

She strides in, the bell tinkles pleasantly, the gentle murmur of the patrons breaks momentarily before resuming seamlessly.

Aria sits at the bar, holds a finger as the bartender asks for her order; she unzips her jacket, slips it off and throws it on another stool. The man's eyes travel down her dress, the furrow in his brows disappears. She looks young, and her patience for banal questions is so low she fears she might curse him - it is a well known fact that you do not cuss the man fixing your drink, unless you want the poor sod to spit in your drink

"Give me your strongest drink, please."

The man raises an eyebrow, but turns around and pulls a bottle down. Good manners will get you anywhere, she muses. Aria downs the glass, it burns her throat, settling like molten lava at the bottom of her stomach. It makes her feel warm and fuzzy. She gestures for a refill.

It isn't until she drinks her fourth glass and is halfway through her fifth that a man slides on the seat on her left. His knee presses into her thigh, the smell of beer wafting in the air pungently. Aria's stomach turns, her nose twitches, she shifts away, but he leans in, heavy breath assaulting her ears. Aria and the bartender share a simultaneous look of pure disgust.

She might just take a stalker over this man.

Aria stands up.

The bear of a man stands too, easily towering over Aria. His suit is rumpled, stained by oil smatterings, her eyes wander up and his mouth is just as oily; he takes it as an encouragement, stepping closer. His beard is bushy, speckled with crumbs and are those egg bits...? His hair is gelled severely, his sideburns are long and faintly shiny as if they had been dipped in the product too. The smell of his cologne is nice, if she didn't feel like she swallowed the entire damn bottle.

Aria swivels, tries to grab her coat, she wants to put at least 100 kilometres between her and this man, however, his paw shoots out, carelessly pulling her in by the waist.

"Get your hand off me," she hisses.

"Easy there love," he slurs.

Aria grits her teeth. No matter how hard she tries, the stupid bear of a man will not budge. Her eyes seek out the bartender; he shakes his head, helpless against the brute just as much as she is.

"I have company, so back off."

He laughs, a booming deep chested sound, throwing his head back and placing one of his large paws on his rounded belly. He tugs her in until she's pressed flush to his hairy chest, his hand disgustingly lowering from the small of her back to her hip.

Aria struggles, viciously pinching and slapping the man; the freak thinks she's playing hard to get and grabs a handful of her ass.

"The lady said no, Shawn." A cool voice interrupts.

The pot-bellied man releases his hold instantly, backing away until at least two bar stools are in-between them. Aria breathes deeply, gratified for the lack of overpowering cologne, and grabby hands, and his rotten breath.

She looks up, Hanjun's eyes are heated, glaring down at her. Aria steps away, he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her to his chest. He smells like fresh rain water and mint.

"Hanjun -"

"Quiet."

He turns his head, his narrowed eyes focused solely on the shaky bear man.

"The first time was a warning Shawn, perhaps you would like a refreshing lesson?"

He fumbles, a glass clatters over the counter, smashing deafeningly; the conversations stop, eyes wander to spectate.

"S-Sir it won't happen again!"

He stumbles, tripping over nothing, his body falls like a chunk of broken cement, the sound echoing. He stutters another apology, crawls between the tables until he reaches the door, where he finally clambers to his feet, only to slip on the threshold and tumble outside.

Aria sighs, sagging in Hanjun's arms. What a shit show.

"Just what did you do to him?"

Hanjun hums, the corners of his lips twitch only to straighten into a disapproving frown. Aria rolls her shoulders. She pats his chest, clearly indicating her desire to be released. His grip tightens, his frown deepens. He shifts, tucking Aria under his arm.

Aria sighs.

"Another round Jax, please."

The blonde remains still, his eyes seeking approval from Hanjun, who shakes his head. Aria bristles, her head twists sharply towards the man still holding her to his side.

"I think you've had enough, darling." Hanjun murmurs.

The air thickens with heat, her dress suddenly too tight, too clingy. She grabs the collar, shakes it gently to bring much needed cool air to her chest, where the bra feels like a boa constricting her flesh. Hanjun's gaze drops, eyes lingering long enough that she notices with a start.

"I didn't think we were close enough for you to manage my alcohol intake. Jax?"

Jax excuses himself politely, says there's something in the back he needs to grab. Traitor. Aria glares behind his back. Of all the bars she could have gone to, she stupidly walked right into this man's regular spot. Fantastic.

The tension builds tenfold, Hanjun's fingers curl tightly around her hip. Aria pushes his chest, attempting to put some distance between them; he backs her body between the stools, his weight pressing her against the wood. His other hand tangles in her free waves, his breath is humid and hot in her ear.

Aria's breath stutters, rainforest and mint drifts over her body. She can't give in; her rules are there for a reason. Aria turns in his arms, smirks at the audible gasp he emits. He towers over her and she finds unwillingly, that her body moulds perfectly to his.

Her previous glass is half empty, Aria chucks it back, slamming the glass on the counter. The noise attracts attention but a simple glance from Hanjun has them avert their eyes hurriedly.

Just who did she get involved with?

His hand snakes over her own, deftly releasing her hold on the crystal glass. Her head snaps up, a curse on the tip of her tongue. His eyes are dark infinite pools, silently daring Aria to cross the line.

"Can't be see in public?" She mocks.

"I shouldn't."

"Then don't."

"I couldn't just walk away." The words escape his mouth like a confession.

Aria grits her teeth, an image of her smashing the glass over his head flashing in her mind. Aria breathes in deeply, slowly winding her heartbeat down. She cannot create a fuss, not when this world is still so new.

"You're being ridiculous." She adds.

Aria scoffs, pointedly pinching his waist and when no reaction comes forth, her hand drops lower. His breath stutters, and for a second Aria bears his full weight as he leans over her.

"Thank you for your help, but as you can see, or rather feel, I can handle myself."

"Aria..." he says softly.

"Don't."

Aria grits her teeth, her nails unconsciously digging half moons into her palms; she inhales sharply, exhales slowly, the tightness in her shoulders eases. She looks up and is taken aback by the softness marring the corner of his eyes.

"Go home, this is no place for you."

Hanjun tucks a stray strand behind her ear so very gently Aria fumbles for a proper response, she reminds herself she is angry, will be so for any encounters with this man. Weakness is not allowed.

"The same goes for you sir. Your wife must be very distraught." she bites sharply.

He stills.

His expression shutters at once, a cold, neutral poker face, muscles rigid beneath her touch, just as they had been in the morning under a completely different scenario. He seizes her arm, sharply pulling her behind him, her coat lays forgotten on the stool. Aria blinks, brain trying to catch up with the sudden change in location, the cold air biting her exposed flesh.

"What the fuck -"

Her vision spots, her legs give in like jelly, and her voice weakens despite the way she's pushing herself to call out to Hanjun. The world blurs, nausea heavy in her guts; it's not the alcohol, she barely had 5 glasses - that fucker must have slipped something inside.

She needs to...