I was so damn glad I was wearing a mask.

If I hadn’t been, the entire bar would’ve seen the storm on my face, topped off with a deep, furious red.

It was such a crazy mix. No, more like a tidal wave, wiping out every trace of common sense in my head.

On one hand, I was ridiculously happy to see his face. To hear his voice.

Relief flooded me, relief that he hadn’t forgotten about me. Relief that I hadn’t scared him off. Relief that maybe it hadn’t all been a mistake.

On the other hand, anger was boiling under my skin. I wanted to hit him. Wanted to slap him so hard the sound would echo across the entire bar. I didn’t care how many people were around.

At the same time, I wanted to grab him by the collar and drag him outside. Throw him out so he’d disappear from my damn life for good.

Why was he here?

No…

I was glad he was here.

But also, screw him.

None of it made any sense.

Three weeks.

Three fucking weeks!

I’d gone from clinging to pathetic little crumbs of something positive to sinking into this hollow, numb mess of emptiness, pain, anger, all of it.

And then he walked in.

Calm. As if nothing in his life had been disturbed.

As if nothing had happened at all.

“Good evening,” he said.

Good evening?

What the hell was good about it?

That was it?

Just that?

Like he hadn’t unknowingly wrecked my internal stability for almost a month.

Wow.

I pulled myself together with everything I had, forcing my shoulders to relax, forcing my breath to slow. I needed to sound normal, as though this didn’t matter more than it should.

“Hey,” I said.

Or at least, that’s what I meant to say.

What actually came out was… not that.

My voice shot up an entire octave, loud and absolutely not mine, ringing out across the bar. It was too high. Embarrassingly high.

I’d been grateful for my mask one second ago, convinced no one could see a thing.

And it took one word, one single fucking word, to make it feel like every head in the room had turned, as though some invisible spotlight had snapped on and announced to the world that I was completely screwed.

Yet, somehow, he didn’t seem to notice anything at all.

He acted like it was any other night. Like any other time, he walked in as if nothing had changed, like I hadn’t completely fallen apart. Like he hadn’t disappeared for three weeks. Like it was all nothing.

He calmly pulled out a barstool, sat down, folded his hands on the counter, and looked at me with that infuriatingly neutral, steady gaze.

You have no idea how much effort it took not to walk the hell out.

I pulled myself together. Because really, did I have a reason?

Did I have any right to confront him?

To feel like this?

We were no one to each other. We went out once. That barely lasted any time at all. He came by the bar a couple of times, drank the cocktails I made, and I rode that high, that stupid, intoxicating rush of inspiration.

So what?

Did that give me any claim to him?

Of course not. Of course it didn’t.

I kept staring at him until I suddenly realized I’d gone too far.

Snapping my gaze away, I grabbed onto the nearest excuse for movement, anything to look busy. A glass. A rag. Whatever. But my head was already filling up, thoughts piling on top of each other, one after another, until one of them slipped out before I could stop it.

“Long time no see.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them and turned away.

My ears burned so hot they might actually go up in flames. There was no way he didn’t notice. No way.

I couldn’t make myself turn back around. My body just… refused.

Then there was silence.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Had he not heard me? Or had I said it too quietly, too unclear for him to catch? What the hell was going on?

I was about to repeat myself—

And then Kazuo slid past me.

I shot him a sideways glance, trying to figure out why he’d come over and what exactly he was doing.

He leaned casually against the shelf of bottles, and that’s when I noticed how intently he was watching Ed.

Kazuo’s gaze was sharp. His ears were angled straight toward him.

“Well, Luka’s right,” Kazuo said. “We haven’t seen you around in a while.”

I froze.

Kazuo never danced around things. When he wanted an answer to a question, he went straight for it.

“What happened,” he continued, tone light but not quite joking, “that you couldn’t spare a few minutes to drop by a place you used to be practically glued to?”

It was eating at me, so I turned halfway toward them, still pretending I was busy and absolutely couldn’t pull myself away.

Ed looked at me. Then back at Kazuo.

He straightened, calm as ever.

“Let’s just say I was busy,” he said. “Busy enough that I couldn’t stop by.”

Kazuo tilted his head. “Funny. Must be something pretty serious in your fancy world if three weeks went by without you showing up.”

He sounded amused.

Almost…

There was something sharper underneath, something that edged toward accusation. And I was relieved to hear it, because it was exactly what I’d wanted to say myself.

Ed shifted his attention back to me then, “Things happen,” he said evenly. “Sometimes life gets in the way… even of your favorite bar.”

Then he glanced back at Kazuo.

“So… sometimes,” he added, “you spend your evenings elsewhere.”

Kazuo smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was more like a wolf baring its teeth.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, sure… Alright then. Enjoy your evening.” Then he turned slightly toward me. “Luka,” he said, “you gonna make something for our guest?”

My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

And then, as if nothing had happened, Ed turned back to me. “So, Luka. What will you serve me tonight?”

“Oh. Uh—” I laughed nervously, then leaned against the counter, trying to act casual. “I was thinking something fun today. Something bright.”

His lips curved again. “A celebration, then?”

“Yeah. Feels like it.” My chest tightened.

“All right,” Ed said after a moment. “That sounds new. Make me that.”

I turned away and started putting the drink together.