Glasses clinked as the two exchanged drinks back and forth.
Occasionally, the auburn-haired waitress would come over to refill their glasses.
"You can hold your liquor pretty well," Ronaldo remarked at some point, having already slid onto the stool next to Claire. He slung an arm around the younger man, his breath heavy with alcohol as he spoke close to Claire's ear.
The warm puffs of air tickling his ear nearly made Claire jump up and flick Ronaldo on the forehead. But there was no helping it—this was just the vibe of the bar, the DJ's music blasting too loud for subtlety.
"Of course! And let me tell you, this right now? Just a warm-up," Claire declared, thumping his chest with exaggerated bravado.
The auburn-haired waitress kept glancing their way from a distance, prompting Ronaldo to nudge Claire and smirk. "Looks like you won't be lonely tonight!"
Claire ignored the comment, instead squinting at a particularly lively VIP booth across the room. "Who's that over there?"
Ronaldo followed his gaze, his lips curling in mild disdain when he spotted the group of attractive women. "Calvin Harris. Tonight's headlining DJ. Dropped a studio album not long ago—did decently. Rumor has it Rihanna's label just signed him."
Claire studied the man under the strobe lights, clicking his tongue. "Tch. Rihanna? And he's that good-looking? Yeah, he's gonna make bank."
"They're probably here for the Sensation White Tour in early September. The new Wembley Stadium just finished construction—bet that's where they'll host it," Ronaldo mused between sips. But as he glanced back at Claire, he noticed the younger man's face had turned red, the flush creeping down his neck. Strangely, Claire didn't seem aware of it at all.
At the mention of Wembley, Claire's eyes lit up. That was the home of England's national team—a stadium he'd idolized since his days at QPR. And the Sensation White Tour? One of the world's top three electronic music festivals. Though originating in the Netherlands, its global influence was undeniable.
As time passed, the empty bottles piled up between them. Even the auburn-haired waitress couldn't navigate the growing sea of beer bottles at their feet.
It took Ronaldo a while to realize Claire was properly drunk. The usually reserved kid had transformed into a chatterbox, no longer needing Ronaldo to steer the conversation. Some of Claire's takes on things were… surprisingly sharp.
"Strong personality, loves the spotlight, self-centered—but your footwork is unreal. You humiliate defenders with those flashy, technical dribbles. That's what people said about you at 17."
"Back in the 2003-04 season, you carried United to a 3-0 win over Millwall. That's when the fans really started believing in you."
"So why can't you win them over again in 07-08? Make them cheer for you like they did back then?"
"The number 7 at United isn't just a jersey—it's a legacy. Best, Robson, Cantona, Beckham… and now you. Every man who wears it becomes a legend."
"So why can't you stand tall again?"
Under the flickering lights, Ronaldo studied Claire's sudden shift in demeanor but said nothing. Instead, he raised his glass and clinked it against Claire's, deliberately changing the subject. "Place is getting packed. Katy Perry just walked in."
Claire frowned, annoyed that Ronaldo dodged the question.
He'd forgotten his old captain Bauer's warning: "Don't let Claire drink. He becomes a different person."
Though Claire had been a seasoned drinker in his past life, he'd overlooked one crucial detail—this body wasn't his. His current vessel was a lightweight who blacked out after two sips.
Drinking on an empty stomach, chugging too fast, and the bar's heady atmosphere had triggered the original Claire's "bond" the moment the alcohol hit his system. And combined with the original owner's admiration for Ronaldo?
Double the bond, double the chaos.
Grumbling, Claire followed Ronaldo's gaze just as Katy Perry walked past, arm-in-arm with a man. Claire didn't even bother being subtle, his eyes trailing her with blatant scrutiny.
Ronaldo, however, ducked his head, trying to disappear into the shadows.
As Katy passed by, she muttered to her companion, "Johnny, I told you I didn't want to come. I don't have time for pointless networking."
Claire's gaze lingered on her retreating figure a beat too long, making Ronaldo tug urgently at his sleeve. With Katy's entrance, the entire bar's attention had shifted toward her—even the DJ had cut the music.
Then Claire dropped the bomb.
"Huh. That guy's ugly as hell."
Ronaldo froze.
Thanks to the sudden silence, Claire's words landed like a lit match in a room full of gas.
The crowd erupted.
That unmistakable Irish accent had just insulted someone very publicly.
"Whoa, why'd it get so quiet?" Claire, blissfully oblivious, wobbled to his feet and grabbed a fresh bottle, ready to toast Ronaldo.
But Ronaldo had turtled into his seat, doing his best "I don't know this guy" impression.
Unfazed, Claire tilted his head back and chugged the entire bottle.
"Ahhh!"
"Burp."
"Now that's refreshing."
He pointed at Ronaldo, who was still trying to vanish into the upholstery, and declared loudly:
"Remember what I said? Why not live a life worth remembering?"