It was hypocritical of him, he knew, to go on a months-long bender in which he was mostly drunk if he wasn't at work. Dean wasn't stupid enough to jeopardize his job, but he'd never been heartbroken before and he wasn't coping as well as he would have liked to be. He knew where the line was between drunk and too drunk. It wasn't a line he often crossed, hell he rarely went past a good buzz, but lately it just wasn't enough to dull the ache in his chest; he'd rather have it in his head.

The invitation to Excalibur had been unexpected; a co-worker had heard him talking about whiskey and said the club had an extensive collection. The shitty part was, Dean knew he ought not to go there, as there was a high chance he'd run into Dempsey. Dean had been more selective about his socializing, in hopes that he wouldn't cross paths with his former lover, but it wasn't as easy as he would have liked. Fortunately he had a month in France coming up, pending the strange Fog situation. That would hopefully put and end to this moping. Still, it would be rude to decline the invite so he was hoping to get in and get out.

The man had been right, the collection was extensive and he had two different twelve years and was half in the bag by the time a third was poured. It was a good buzz, more than he usually allowed in public, but he had already spotted Dempsey at least twice and he kept an eye on the clock, counting down until he could leave. He felt like he was trespassing and opening up old wounds and it was decidedly an unwelcome feeling.

In catching Dempsey's eye again, the smirk that followed caught him off guard. He hated the reaction in his chest, and so all he could do was throw back the rest of his whiskey and excuse himself from his company to find the powder room.