This is ridiculous, Dylan thinks, sighing in frustration as he cleans a beer glass. No, seriously. It really shouldn't be happening - a middle-aged man having to change his underwear in the middle of the night because he woke up after having a wet dream. A very vivid one at that.

Maybe it would have been fine if it happened once in a while. But with the new guy in town, it was proving to be a bit difficult for Dylan. It has been a few months since the bells attached to his bar door jingled and in walked the young man - handsome, charming, ethereal and... okay, now maybe it is Dylan's rose-tinted imagination speaking.

At first, Dylan had thought he was another tourist or rich young person visiting countryside towns on 'soul-searching journeys.' It didn't matter as long as business kept up. But he stuck around. And hence began Dylan's shameful dilemma.

It began slowly - the slight uptick of his heartbeat at the young man entering the bar day after day, giving way to a fluttering pit in his stomach as the weeks rolled by. Then came the crushing feeling of wanting to be physically close to him. It has been years, no decades, since he had felt this way about someone. When he was a teenager... when he was with Jack.

It made sense then. But now, at 46? It was nothing short of dumbassery. Dylan was embarrassed to even admit to himself that he had fucked himself on a dildo, multiple times, thinking of the young man. Too ashamed of his fantasies, feeling like a pervert.

How many times has he daydreamed that he would bend him over the counter or push him against the wall? How many times has he checked him out of the corner of his eyes? How many times has he walked past his table while serving drinks, hoping, wishing that he would grab him and pull him down on his lap?

Too many times for it to be considered normal for a man who'd be turning fifty in a few years. What if he wasn't even interested in men? What if he already had a partner?

Dylan leans against the counter, scratching his stubble. "Fucking hell, pull yourself together. You're a grown ass man, thirsting after a guy who's probably half your age," he mutters to himself. It was futile to keep thinking about it, especially when he's never going to make a move. He didn't want him to think he was a creepy old degenerate.

He rubs his temples and looks around. A few people were scattered across the bar. The happy hour crowd weren't here yet. And right then the door opens and the bell jingles. Dylan's heart constricts as the young man's voice floats in. He clears his throat and mentally forces himself to don his usual indifference as he walks towards the counter.