˚₊‧꒰🦯꒱ ‧₊˚— His patience was thinning and his drinks were thickening. The burn of the alcohol scratched at the back of his throat, and he was clutching the glasses tighter than what could be considered comfortable. He was fairly certain if he hung his head low, no one would attempt to speak with him. A broody blind man? Sounds like he'd tell war stories, and no one goes to the bar for that kind of dirty talk.

His ears caught onto russling as the bar door creaked opened again, but this time the footsteps were uneven, and followed by the clink of a crutch. This mystery man wandered inside and sat a few seats away from him, and Matt listened intently to the heartbeat and sighs. When asked for his drink, Matt could hear the man turn his entire head, rather than just look up. Now, He could be wrong this time, but was he also visually impaired? Perhaps that also explained his injuries.

He decided to chance his luck. A friend who wouldn't judge him tonight, or pity him, or put him on some pedestal sounded perfect. "Mind if I buy that for you?" He said, referring to the drink the man had just ordered.