Laughter and chatter filled the pub in overlapping bursts, with clinks of glass and the fizz of freshly prepared drinks slipping in between. It was the same as every other night, until Myra built up the courage to step in from the doorway. 

She felt the eyes glancing her way; she could hear less noise. When she made it to the bar, the tender snatched a glass from the finished drinks piling up on the bar’s corner. He turned away, began wiping the inside of the glass. 

Myra took a cautious seat, wondering if she'd really prepared to put herself in this kind of situation. “Excuse me, I'd like to order, please.” She tried. 

The shoulders of the bartender rose, but he didn't move other than to wipe the glass with more vigour.

“I just want a lemonade?” Myra tried again.

The man paused, gasped in a quick breath before turning around with the biggest and most strained smile Myra had ever seen. “Of course! Of course! Sorry, just didn't hear you at first. Very loud in here.” He laughed, albeit awkwardly. 

Myra left her coins on the counter while the bartender scrambled to get her lemonade.

This painfully awkward and tense atmosphere is not what Myra came here for. She's not afraid to stand up for herself, but she certainly doesn't enjoy throwing herself into huge crowds of people who hate her. 

Myra was actually here hoping to run into Dacien. He came here every few days, Myra could gather, always with his friends. Right, those lovely friends Myra got to know so well at that party.

She scanned the pub, sorting through the crowds of brunettes and blondes, occasionally distracted by the pops of petal-orange hair of the few redheads. Finally, her eyes landed on the golden hair of a tall man, fragments of the familiar laughing face through the crowd.

Dacien was here, and Myra slowly breathed in.

She approached cautiously, hoping to catch him when the attention of his friends was directed elsewhere. But Dacien’s sharp eyes locked onto Myra before she could step close enough, his voice cutting through his conversation. “Myra?”

Now the whole group's eyes were on her.

“Dacien.” She greeted with a nod, deciding to leave her focus on him. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” One of his friends interjected with a raised hand propped protectively on Dacien's chest.

Myra didn't break her stare with Dacien, hoping her thoughts would somehow be transferred through her eyes.

The man gently pushed Dacien back, stepping forward to get in between them. “We don't want him getting hurt. You could apparently blow up anytime!” It broke Myra's focus and she instead locked eyes with a fairly muscular man. She recognised him from the party, the man who had pulled Dacien away from her company. She didn't remember his name – if she was ever even given it.

“I don't really care what you want.” Myra muttered, standing a little taller than before.

“We always knew there was something up with you, besides you just being odd.” 

“Henley.” Dacien murmured, Myra almost didn't catch the name.

Henley turned his head, kept his body rigid and tense in warning to Myra. “Day.” He returned. “This was fun at first, you know, before we knew she really is a maniac devil-worshipping whore! ‘The hardest girl to get’ really is the hardest for a reason! You don't have to prove yourself anymore.”

A few more of his friends agreed in their own words, barely any of them sparing Myra a glance.

She clenched her jaw and refocused her eyes on her perhaps old friend.

Dacien looked lost. His wide eyes appeared almost watery with all the twinkling lights gleaming on the surface. His expression was confused, with barely parted lips and a wrinkle between his brows. 

Myra didn't care what others thought of her, at least that was the attitude she was trying to cover herself with. I don't care about their opinions. Who are these people? Her thoughts spiralled around her mind like a chant.

“You insulted me in front of a bunch of other women trying to tear me down. I know you think you were trying to help but…it hurt me instead.” 

Dacien's lost eyes fixated on Myra, their round shape hardening.

“You think I'm weird? Of course, everyone thinks that. Why would you be any different. You're no different when you're with these people, but act like you are when you're with just me. I was actually starting to like you.” She spoke with her fists clenched by her sides, long nails digging into her palms.

She searched for a response in Dacien's face, any change in emotion, any quick breath to indicate his own words coming out. His lost stare was all she saw. 

Henley's hand dropped back onto Dacien's chest, this time with more force to steer him away from Myra. “Don't listen to her Day. Come on, let's get another drink.”

That was it.

Myra turned away. As she walked, a hallway of people opened up, just like the Red Sea. Instead of leading her to freedom and hope, it only led her to the door, and not in silence. The sea of people, they were unmistakably happy. Myra tried not to look.

She opened the black-painted wood, stepped out into the darker night. It must've been cloudy; not a star or moon in sight. It was emptiness and, somehow, restraint.

Myra sighed, but it brought no relief. She was starting to think this whole thing was a terrible idea, that maybe she would've been better off with Dacien just avoiding her because she told him to. Not this.

But maybe all wasn’t lost. Myra didn’t turn when the door opened, but did when her name was called.

“Myra! I’m so sorry, I was overwhelmed– I told them to back off.” Dacien cried, hands gesturing uneasily to the door behind before landing protectively on his chest. He did look regretful. But was that enough?

“You told them to back off after I had left? What a hero.” Myra muttered with arms kept sternly to her sides. She walked down the short stone path into the street, trying not to care if Dacien decided to follow.

Follow he did, with a bounce to his steps to catch up. “I said I’m sorry. I know what they did– what they do is wrong. You don’t deserve any of that.”

“Thanks for finally catching up.” She grumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she hated more: Dacien’s lack of quick action to come to her aid or the growing desire to forgive and forget and continue their friendship like nothing had happened.

Maybe somewhere in between lied the answer.

“I’ll try harder…” Dacien said quietly. He caught Myra’s eye for a brief moment, wide pools of hope and determination that bore into her. “I’m not ashamed to be friends with you. I think it’d be cool if other people saw how great you are, too. I’ll try harder to be on your side. You deserve nothing less.”

Myra looked as far away from Dacien as she could, only to hide the blush she was sure had overtaken her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting that.

“Fine. I forgive you. But I’ll hold you to that.” She said with a tone as harsh as she could muster – which wasn’t very.

Dacien was unmistakably relieved – Myra could feel it in the air. He didn’t say much as they continued walking through the streets of the cool night. It felt comfortable.

Until Dacien ruined it again.