We are young, wild and free

[Patrick O'Connell]

Tinkle tinkle tinkle~!

Pat glanced up at the musical bell that sounded above his head as he entered the Wooly Poodle--the only pub in Dingle (and probably Ireland) that didn't care if you were a rent boy or a millionaire, everybody got the same shite pint of brew and a wobbly stool to park their arse on. Sometimes if you were lucky, Danny would flash you a smile and maybe tip you a wink.

He slid onto a stool that protested his weight and wiggled despondently to find a comfortable position. As always, the pub was full of voices and noise and it was warm and comforting. It felt like home in a sense. There was a lot of clutter and a lot of mess, but it was clean. Everything was out of place in just the right way.

For a moment, Pat just sat and took in the sights and the sounds and the feelings that everything here evoked in him. He saw an old man with a grizzled gray beard drinking by himself in the corner, looking lost in thought. There were a couple of young lads near the center of the room having a right old row, but it seemed mostly in good fun. They were drunk off their arses, anybody could see that.

Something cold suddenly pressed against the side of his arm, through the thin shirt that he wore, and Pat turned slowly. Sometimes, if you were lucky, Danny would flash you a smile and tip you a wink. Well today was Pat's lucky day.

"Hiya Danny boy," he smiled as he accepted the pint and brought it to his lips. Ahhh... Nothing like a refreshing cold beer. "How's business?"

"Same auld, same auld, Patty." Danny's grin was infectious, but Pat already couldn't have smiled any more if he tried. He tried anyway, especially after Danny leaned over the counter to grab him in an awkwardly positioned but enthusiastic hug. He had that way about him, Danny. There probably wasn't a person in town who disliked him.

When Pat first arrived in Dingle, he had no one except his uncle Greg. Making friends was difficult for him as a nineteen year-old, fresh off an unplanned and heavily unfunded trip across Ireland. The old motherland wasn't so kind to him most days. There were nights where he thought that he wouldn't make it, that he thought he would finally meet his maker. Experiences like that tended not to make a young lad the most approachable to a gaggle of his peers.

But something about Danny thawed him out. The disarming smile, or the frank, honest blue eyes, or the unexpected gentleness. Pat also heard tell of a younger brother who ran away from home, and they bonded over that. Niall was his name. Pat recalled seeing a picture of him once, with his grin as big as Danny's, and he understood after that why Danny had named his pub after his brother.

Handsome lad. Pat might have given him a go.

Ah, well. It wasn't any big loss. Pat never doubted his own sexuality but Danny doubted his. They had a bit of a smooch behind his uncle's farmhouse once. Danny discovered that kissing men did nothing for him and Pat pretty much realized what he'd already known. The friendship only survived because afterwards, Danny laughed and it was impossible to hate Danny boy when he laughed like that and flung an arm around your shoulders and squeeeeezed.

Pat eased back and took another drink as someone else shouted an order. Danny winked at him again before going off to tend to the customer, and Pat tipped him a lazy salute. Sometimes they wouldn't talk for days and weeks on end. Danny might be out on a hunt with his overbearing father; Pat might be busy with 'clients.' Or the timing wasn't right to meet. But sometimes they might bump into each other in the street, and it was always like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes, or an old robe. Comfortable--their friendship was comfortable.