Thick fingers combed through unkempt hair, slightly greasy from days of being kept unwashed; traveling through the hair to settle on the back of his neck. Yeah, he definitely needed a trim. His hair was too long and his face was too scruffy. At the thought his hand traversed the curve of his jaw, running along the pleasantly rough stubble – a day of grooming would do him good, although some might say they enjoyed the ‘wild man’ look. Ronan let out a deep sigh. It was late, or rather it was early. So early the bar he was sat at had only three customers. The atmosphere was lonely; quiet, which was something he liked. It’s been like that the last few hours as all the sensible people with jobs left to catch whatever small of a night’s sleep they could. But even then, Ronan didn’t mind the patrons. They weren’t necessarily old, though it was obvious some were, and they were all seasoned adults with their wits about them – save for that one guy that got a little two rowdy with Jessica, the waitress. Ronan had to take care of him; he couldn’t tolerate such belligerence, and it scored him a few drinks on the house. Like the rest, Jessica left hours ago, leaving the bar in the hands of Michael, an older man in his early fifties who enjoyed his liquor just as much as Ronan. The two got along well in the past five nights Ronan has been going to the bar, but it wouldn’t be long until Ronan left that city. Always a traveler. After his many years of life, Ronan had come to discover that it was easier being alone than finding a place with people. Letting them get close and growing attached only ended in pain when he watched them grow old and die. The memories created when they were alive become unbearable when they’re gone. There is no way to erase the image of the face of the woman you loved so much with a noose tied around her broken neck; or the glazed over, dead look in the eyes that once held so much life and light in them. Ronan shook his head as if it would shake the images from his brain. Another gruff sigh and the glass of whiskey was brought up to his lips for a long drink, the ember liquid gone when he sat the cup back on the wooden bar. It wasn’t three seconds later that Michael filled it back up from his spot behind the bar. “Thanks,” A voice just as worn and tired as he looked called out, earning a nod of acknowledgement from the older man. Aside from their occasional back-and-forth, neither Ronan nor Michael talked. That’s how it was from the first night Ronan sat at the bar. It was in the silence the two communicated. In all actuality, they knew very little about each other, yet managed to understand the other completely. They were kindred spirits; they grasped an understanding of just how cruel life could be and accepted that fact with their whole being. It was a unique bond that would end soon. Ronan was due to leave the city in the next day.