Life sped by him as he slung drinks. Guys came up to him with their  dime-a-dozen come ons. Typical pop diva after typical pop diva sang of pain they couldn't possibly know anything about in autotuned perfection. Guys met other guys. Guys got rejected. Guys went home with other guys. And Hunter did a shot for each occurrence.

Steve didn't mind if the bartenders sipped as they worked, but Hunter was testing the limits.  The drone of the night was too much; Hunter needed something to help him get through it. His regulars thought he was being aloof. New customers thought he was an asshole. He just didn't care.

Closing time. Hunter locked up and looked out on Belmont bathed in moonlight and street lamp. Looking exactly like the night he met Fitz.  The night couldn't end like this. He couldn't go home.

Walking up Halsted, he stopped into Steamworks. Because he just had to feel something.

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