Chapter Text
It was a slow night at the Blackwatch Bar in downtown Los Angeles, and only being an hour into his shift made Jesse McCree more agitated. He was attempting to distract himself by cleaning all the glasses, twice over, with his back turned to anyone who might be seated at the bar. His shift leader, Ana Amari, was a total hard ass when it came to keeping watch over the bar. But Ana was on the phone with her daughter, reading her a bedtime story over the phone. McCree’s thoughts were wandering until a customer startled him.
“Bourbon neat, please.”
The voice startled Jesse, making him jump a little bit. He turned to see who was the owner of the velvety voice, and found himself face to face with an older gentleman. Could he be Jesse’s age? He’d ask questions later, he needed to do his job first.
“Comin’ right up, darlin’.” McCree smiled gently, beginning to prepare the drink when the gentleman spoke in return. “Do not call me that, I am not your darling.” He spoke with an aggressive tone now, his face showing agitation. “Aw, c’mon now. I‘m a bartender, I gotta at least try to make you feel better.” McCree flashed his white smile at the man across from him as he handed him his ordered drink. “Bone apple tea, as the youngins’ say!” The bartender laughed at his own joke, not realizing the man across from him didn’t care.
McCree turned his back for just a moment before his customer spoke again.
“Another, please.”
Wow, this guy must really like his drinks. The bartender thought as he prepared another for the gentlemen. As he handed him the drink, he tried again. “What’s your name? If you don’t mind me askin’, that is.” McCree studied his face before he replied. He had dark bags under his eyes, features dulled down due to the dim light. It was hard to see his face, but he could at least see his lips moving. “Shimada Hanzo. Call me Hanzo, please. Nothing else.” Damn, Jesse reflected. This guy is a total dick. But yet he’s kinda cute?
That didn’t make much sense to him, especially with how tired Hanzo looked. No, not even tired, he must be downright exhausted with how heavy his undereye bags are. “Y’know, I’m not sure where yer from, but that was a lil’ blunt. You got somethin’ goin’ on?” McCree pressed a little bit, his curiosity getting the best of him. Hanzo rolled his eyes and muttered something in a foreign language, just loud enough to hear.
“I am from Japan, here because of my younger brother. I do not wish to speak of the details as to why I am here.” The Japanese man seemed out of his element, and quite frankly, a little pitiful. “Another, please.” The two men talked more as the night went on, and as Hanzo became more intoxicated, McCree noticed that there was probably something going on between him and his younger brother. He figured it would be best if he didn’t press on that issue, at least not for now.
The conversation wasn’t terribly dry—Hanzo spoke about what it’s like in his hometown of Hanamura. Jesse found him to be more interesting than he expected, despite how blunt he was earlier. He took note of how drunk he was beginning to get, making sure he drank water in between glasses to attempt to sober him up. Hanzo did not want to sober up, however.
Jesse further observed how handsome Hanzo looked in his current attire. His customer was wearing a grey button down with black slacks, possibly some kind of oxford shoes and hair hanging down his shoulders. He’d never seen a man with such beautiful hair, and the bartender was a little jealous of how nice Hanzo’s hair was. This made him want to know so much more already. McCree wondered what his hair smelled like; would it reek of cigarettes and beer like his did sometimes? Or did it smell like pears? McCree pushed the thought away, realizing how weird it is to think of things like that.
Especially about a customer.
All Hanzo could feel now is how hard his head is pounding. His eyes creaked open as if they had been glued shut, headache worsening the more he sees light. He slowly sat up, the room becoming clearer as he looked around. Wait, where the hell am I? Hanzo did a double take before he violently got out of the bed, knocking over a glass of water on the nightstand beside him. Upon this he discovered a note beside it.
Hanzo! You were too drunk to go back home and you wouldn’t let me drive ya, so I brought ya back to keep you safe. I slept on the couch. Holler if ya need me!
-Jesse
Hanzo found this very…odd. He was grateful that someone had been looking out for him in such a reckless state, though. He folded the note in half and re-dressed himself in the clothes from the night before, then walked into the living room to see the handsome bartender unconscious just as the note specified.
He studied him for a moment, taking note of the burnt-out cigar stuck in his mouth and the way his limbs sprawled out on the couch. Jesse was nothing like Hanzo had imagined him last night while he was getting drunk, maybe it had been the dim lighting in the bar. The hungover man tiptoed over to Jesse and poked his arm.
“Jesse?” No reply.
“Jesse.” He spoke louder this time, and the bartender awoke.
“Whut is it?” Jesse opened one eye as he replied, then jolted up. “Oh, Hanzo! You’re awake! Sorry ‘bout last night, you just weren’t safe to go home, y’know?” The bartender smiled softly, his eyes hinting at worry.
“Thank you for having my best interest at heart, Mr. Jesse. If you don’t mind, I should really get—“
“You wanna leave? That’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it honey. I was gonna make you some breakfast food, but if you wanna go I’ll drive ya.”
“My apologies, Mr. Jesse. I just have much to take care of today.” Jesse was hoping that Hanzo would stay, but after some of the things he said last night while utterly intoxicated, he knew that the man really should get going. The bartender picked up his keys from the coffee table beside him, pushed his feet into his boots and walked out of his apartment with Hanzo.
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Jesse, by the way. Jus’ call me Jesse. Or McCree. It don’t matter to me.” Hanzo nodded in response.
The car ride was relatively silent, until they had gotten closer to Hanzo’s home. “So why do you dress like a cowman?” The Japanese man was curious. From McCree came a loud snort.
“A cowman? Well, that’s a new one. Naw, I don’t dress like a cowman sug. I jus’ enjoy wearin’ flannels and boots. Y’see, I was raised in the south on a farm. But I ain’t a cowman.”
“Ah. But you were raised on a farm, so would that not make you a cowman? Or a herdman?” Hanzo pressed. His hangover was beginning to fade away, he’d always been able to recover fairly quickly from a night of heavy drinking.
“Let’s just go with cowman, I think that’s kinda cute.” The bartender smiled, pulling up to Hanzo’s home. “I believe this is yer stop, honey. Do you mind if I get your number? Jus’ so I can check on ya later. You were pretty down last night, and I don’t wanna make you feel like yer alone.”
There was a slight slur of his words, potentially from the drowsiness. Hanzo didn’t notice it, as he was writing down his phone number on the back of a receipt he found on the floor of Jesse’s truck. “I do not normally give my phone number out, but I feel bad for the way we met. I’d like to return the favor if necessary. I owe you, Jesse McCree.” Hanzo smiled sheepishly, handed him the paper, and got himself out of the truck before the bartender could give any kind of response.
People would normally deny that he didn’t owe them, but he had been raised to believe that he owes people certain debts, especially if it could have saved his life. He felt awkward leaving it on that note, but had a feeling that the bartender would eventually text him.
The Japanese man pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door and walked inside before hearing the loud engine of Jesse’s truck driving away. This feeling was unsettling, but comforting at the same time.