By the evening of the next day, the rain had slowed to a thin drizzle. That only worsened my mood, because I especially hated that kind of rain.
I barely dragged myself to the bar after that sleepless night.
When I stepped inside, the bar was already ready to open. Everything was the same as always. The same dim lighting, the same familiar mix of alcohol, citrus, wood, and something else that was typical of places like ours.
I reluctantly slipped behind the counter, pulled off my hoodie, and tugged the mask over my face. I let out a breath, hoping that by the time my shift was over, the hoodie would have dried and stopped being so unpleasantly damp.
Behind the bar, I got a little better, but my head still throbbed from the lack of sleep.
The first hour passed in the usual blur. I was mixing drinks, sliding glasses down the counter, leaning close to catch orders over the noise.
But even as my hands worked on their own, my head felt thick with fog. I was grateful I'd been here long enough for muscle memory to take over. Because after that stupid night full of maddening thoughts, I was barely holding it together. If I were new at this, I probably would've shattered half the glasses by now.
A hand tapped the counter, pulling me back. Kazuo leaned in, resting his forearms on the wood.
"You're quiet tonight," he said.
"I'm working," I muttered, grabbing a glass and filling it.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could push, someone else slid into the space at the bar.
"Hey, you guys seen what's been going on?"
It was Anton — one of our loudest regulars. The same guy who'd tried to shake him awake on the first night. Tonight, Anton wasn't drunk, only fired up. His cheeks were flushed, his hands tapping restlessly against the counter.
"Those damn protests," he spat. "Kept me up all night. Shouting, chanting the same crap over and over. I swear, they don't shut up." He laughed bitterly. "And for what? What the hell are hybrids even doing that's so bad?"
Kazuo gave a small shrug. "Disliking those who are different from you, especially when they're a minority, is pretty common."
"Disliking?" Anton snorted. "No, it's hate. And it's everywhere. My wife—she's a hybrid, you know? I don't give a damn. But they're out there yelling as if we're the enemy, too. Like she's some kind of threat just for existing." His hand smacked against the bar. "And I'm supposed to sit there, pretend it doesn't matter?"
"I know it's hard," Kazuo said in the same calm tone. "But anger still doesn't solve anything."
"Oh, come on, man. You always do this." Anton shook his head, frustrated. "I'm not gonna sit around and watch them do whatever they want. If I'm pissed, why shouldn't I punch one of those assholes? That'd boost my mood."
They kept going for a while longer. Anton was running on pure emotion, waving his hands, throwing out sharp, heated words, while Kazuo stayed as calm as ever. A few people around them turned to look, but no one joined in. Music played in the background, serving as a soundtrack to this tense scene.
I kept working, pretending I wasn't listening. And yet I caught every single word.
Hearing someone I knew be that openly angry at people who hated hybrids was strange. I should have been relieved knowing his wife was a hybrid. If that was the case, then he wasn't one of them.
Still, doubt lingered somewhere deep inside me.
Was all that anger and protectiveness only tied to his wife?
Would it change if it were about someone else?
I glanced at Kazuo. He held himself unbothered, though I could tell from the tightness in his shoulders that all this was bothering him.
And then—
The bell above the door rang, interrupting them.
I turned my head toward the door and nearly dropped the glass in my hand.
It was the man who hadn't left my thoughts for weeks. The man I had been waiting for.
When he stepped inside, my pulse kicked up so hard it seemed as if it made the mask tremble.
I dropped my gaze to the glass in my hands, grabbed a rag, and started polishing it. I had to do something. Anything, so I could keep pretending I didn't care. That his absence all this time hadn't mattered. That these weeks hadn't drained me with the same questions, fears, and doubts swirling around in my head. I told myself I didn't care and kept up the act.
I couldn't sort out what I was feeling. Shock. Anger. Relief. Maybe all of it at once.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kazuo looking at me with a strange expression, asking me silently if I was okay.
I didn't react. I couldn't.
Because at that moment, he stepped up to the bar, calmly took an empty seat, and the scent of his cologne drifted toward me. Something tightened in my throat.
It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like months. I kept telling myself not to react, to act like everything was fine.
My eyes stayed glued to the stupid glass I was wiping, afraid that looking up would break something in me.
And God, I hated that.
Hated that my hands trembled. Hated that the mask didn't save me from him.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and put the glass down on the bar. I did it too harshly, sending a loud thud echoing through the room. A few people turned to look. His lips curved slightly, almost like a smirk.
He'd definitely noticed how nervous I was.
Anton cleared his throat and grumbled something about needing fresh air before hurrying toward the door. Kazuo lingered for a moment, glancing from him to me, then back again. His eyes swept over the bottles behind the bar, and he announced that he "suddenly needed to restock a few things," wearing that sly, annoying little smile of his. Then he slipped off toward the storage room.
I swallowed. Words itched on my tongue, but I couldn't force them out.
He leaned closer. His low voice slipped beneath the hum of the bar: "Evening, Bartender."
My stupid heart missed a beat.
Yeah, apparently, the consequences of that sleepless night were not limited to me barely being able to move and desperately wanting sleep. Something was clearly wrong with my brain too, because the word Bartender pissed me off so much that I had to fight the urge to snap back with something sharp.
Was it really that hard to notice my name? Or to learn it? Or to ask? I would have answered. And then I would have had an excuse to ask for his in return.
I found myself wondering what it would sound like if he said my name.
Just my name.
Damn, why do I even care?
For some reason, those thoughts made me feel warm. That was definitely the lack of sleep.
Absolutely.
And the fact that I was blushing under my mask while looking at him was also one hundred percent because of exhaustion.
I sucked in a breath, trying to calm myself. I wanted to ask why he came back. Why did he keep finding his way into my orbit? Why couldn't he leave me alone and let my life stay the quiet, simple thing it used to be?
But instead, I only nodded. "Good evening. What will you drink this time?"
"As always," he said slowly, "I'll leave it to your judgment."