"Hey, uh, bar guy, I never caught your name," Pete says when I slide his beer to him. I just smile. "So it's like that, huh? Well, two can play at this game," He says, taking a sip of his beer. A few seconds later, he looks at me with pleading eyes and says, "Okay, I don't want to play this game!"

"It's okay, man, but I don't usually give my name out. I'm Kaleb," I offer out my hand. I had to change my name in risk of him finding me. Of all of them finding me. He takes my hand, smiling.

"Pete. But you already knew that," He says, hitting my back with his other hand. Very different from the last time I met him. The germaphobic popsicle is no more.

"So when'd you dye your hair back?" I ask. I freeze as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I just met him! I'm not supposed to know all of this about him.

He just raises an eyebrow and answers, "Probably a month ago. Rian didn't like the pink,"

I lean in closer to him and whisper, "He, uh, hasn't, you know, hit you since last time we talked, right?" Pete's head drops as his fingers tighten around his glass, knuckles turning white. "Pete, you can't do that to yourself,"

"I can't just leave him," Pete says, trying to reason with me.

"Why the hell can't you?" I ask, leaning across the bar. I have the towel slung over my shoulder with my fedora covering up most of my blue hair. I lift the hat and run a hand through my hair before placing it back down.

"He'll.. He threatened to kill me if I left," He says in a small voice that's so un-Pete-like that I don't understand anything. Who the fuck does that guy think he is?

He's Pete's boyfriend, dumbass. You lost that privilege two months ago when you dumped him.

"Pete, it's gonna be okay," I pat his shoulder, my hand moving up to his face. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him. He freezes and pushes me away. "I, uh, Pete, I'm sorry,"

"You seriously fucking think that you kissing me will make any bit of this better, Kaleb?" He hisses. He turns his glass up and empties it down his throat, slamming it down on the table when he's finished. "Hit me with something harder. I don't want to feel anything,"

'Hit me with something harder.' I find the words ironic, but I do as I'm told, even though I do not want to. What good is drinking going to do? I give him a shot of straight whiskey. He downs it in no time, scrunching up his face for a second before it goes back to normal.

"Feel better?" I ask. He shakes his head, pushing the glass towards me. I shouldn't do this, but he's a customer and customers come before feelings.

"Nope," He says as I pour another one. A double shot this time. He downs that just as quick, almost falling, but I catch him and sit him down in his chair. "A-Another," He chokes out.

This is it. The last one, and then I can declare him drunk. He takes this one just as fast as the others, glaring at me when I refuse to pour another, saying that he's nowhere near as drunk as he first intended to get. It doesn't matter to me. It's my call.

"I'm sorry, Pete, but I'm cutting you off. I can call Andy or Joe to pick you up, if you want," I say, reaching for his phone that is placed on the counter. He's too drunk to know that he hasn't told me a word about either one of them and doesn't ask how I know them.

"Call Patrick. I miss him," He slurs, tears in his eyes. "He left me. I don't know why. Kaleb, do you know why?" He asks, hiccuping afterwards. I feel terrible for all of this.

"No, Pete, I'm sorry. I don't know why. He seems like quite a douchebag, though," I say, placing my hand on top of his. He scrunches his nose.

"Do-Don't talk about my Patrick like that. I love him," He hiccups again, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I feel so stupid for loving him when he just left without so much as a look back," I really do feel like an ass right now. How could I do that to a person? To Pete of all people?

"And I bet, wherever he may be, he misses and loves you, too. And he's a fucking idiot for letting you go. You're a catch, Pete," I say, grabbing his phone.

I dial Andy's number, and he picks up on the first ring. "I swear, Pete, if he hit you again," Andy says before I can even get out a word.

"Hi, uh, this is Kaleb. Uh, Pete's a little, how do I put it, drunk out of his mind? And, yeah, Rian hit him again," I explain. "He's at McCoy's. If you give me an address, I can call him a cab? Or you could come pick him up?" I say that quieter. I can't have Andy showing up here and blowing my cover.

He sighs before saying, "Uh, yeah, I'll give you an address. Thanks for doing this, Kanye," Andy says, giving me an address. I don't have the heart to correct my fake name.

Andy wants Pete with he and Joe, apparently. I wouldn't blame him. Who would want their best friend to go home to an abusive bastard that doesn't deserve even the slightest bit of Pete?

"Don't worry about it, man. It's my job. And Pete's a nice guy. Shame about what's happening, though. He doesn't deserve that," I say, trying not to blow my cover.

I can't sound too sympathetic. I'm just supposed to be some random bartender who gets these kinds of things daily and doesn't really keep track of things like this.

But it's different. It's different because it's Pete. Pete, who I'm in love with. Pete, who I should be marrying in a month. But I'm not. Because I fucked up. And I can't blame anyone except myself for this mess I've created.

I've created a mess in Pete. Pete is a mess because of me. No other reasons except for the fact that I fucked him up bad.

If I wouldn't have left, none of this would've happened. Pete wouldn't be in an abusive relationship with a guy that didn't give a shit about him.

We'd be happy together, not giving a fuck about what people said. It's all my fault Pete is getting abused.