The words stung every time, but still Bell smiled, because it was all they could do to keep the tears from welling in their eyes. “Maybe it is,” they murmured softly, their tone also carefully controlled. They couldn’t let it waver, couldn’t let the pain show. “But… before we do, one last kiss?”

Carrie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, frowning gently at the request. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please?” Bell asked, taking a small step closer and offering their hand. “It would bring me closure.” It wouldn’t, not truly, but at least it would remove Bell from Carrie’s life. It was as close to closure as she was ever able to get.

Bell lifted her own hand to her face, pretending to hide her expression as she slipped a glassy marble into her mouth. Their hand fell back to their side as they stepped forward to meet their soon-to-be ex-girlfriend halfway and bring their lips together. This close, her favorite perfume filled Bell’s senses, nearly drowning out the smell of salt and water with gardenias and a hint of vanilla.

Daring to part her lips with their tongue, they let the glass-like bead slip from their mouth to hers, then snapped their fingers behind Carrie’s back. As they leaned back, they looked into Carrie’s unfocused gaze and held up their hand, palm to the sky. Without needing to be asked, she reached into her mouth and pulled out the marble, setting it in their palm delicately. It was slick with her saliva, but they paid no mind to that. It never bothered them.

Holding it delicately in their fingers, Bell brought the pearl to their lips and slipped it between them, swallowing it. She looked back to the woman in time to see her eyes clear up, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Carrie blinked and glanced around. “Oh, um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I just... you seem familiar.”

Bell smiled again and did her best to keep the hurt from her eyes. “No worries, I get that a lot. Just have one of those faces, you know?”

Their ex, now a stranger, hesitated. Briefly, Bell wondered if she’d managed to somehow retain some fragment of memory. However, a second later, she offered a sheepish smile of her own. “Must be. So sorry to bother you.” Then she turned and began to walk away, leaving Bell alone on the shoreline.

“Have a good night!” Bell called after her, waving even though she wasn’t looking. She didn’t answer, likely too embarrassed by the events that didn’t actually happen. They watched her go, sighing once she was out of earshot, and let their gaze drift to the sea beside them. The moon was so big and bright, it was almost like twilight. It would’ve been romantic, had they had any other conversation. “Second one this year,” she muttered to the sea. “And it’s only May.” Its only response was one wave lapping at her sandaled feet.

Bell nodded like that was a proper answer, then turned and began walking in the opposite direction down the beach, intent on finding the only thing that could alleviate the sting of rejection: a good drink.

They stepped onto the sidewalk and made their way down to the end of the beach, where sand gave way to concrete, and started down that street. Buildings passed but none were afforded her attention. Bell had made this walk plenty of times before, she knew exactly where she needed to go for what she wanted. So one block gave way to another before she turned down another street and walked into the establishment on that corner. Neon signs filled the windows, advertising different brands they carried, and the fact that they were open, of course. Bell’s personal favorite was the rainbow flag right by the front door that flickered occasionally. It probably needed to have the neon checked, but the defective nature of the light added to its charm.

Inside, Bell’s eyes immediately went to the mural on the back wall, covered in a few places by some posters to hide where paint was flecking off. In big, old-timey script was the name of the bar, the Sinking Ship, along with some rather stylized waves, and the titular ship doing as the name described, sinking into the murky depths below. Tables dotted the room and stools lined the bar, many occupied by patrons.

This was Bell’s favorite bar. Well, human bar, anyway. It wasn’t as impressive as the Smiling Shojo down on Convoy, but it held its own well enough here in PB. Besides, Bell wasn’t feeling sake and soju right now. The sharp bite of cheap spirits would do just fine.

Making a beeline for the bar following the side of the entire room, Bell pulled back a stool and flopped onto it with a sigh. “I recognize that look,” Kennedy said from behind the counter as she took a glass from underneath. “Let me guess, vodka cranberry?”

“More vodka than cranberry, please,” Bell replied, sinking further into their seat.

The bartender scooped a few chunks of ice from the cold storage and into the empty glass, then grabbed a large bottle of vodka, pouring a generous amount before splashing in the cranberry juice to give it a reddish-pink hue. Setting it in front of Bell lightly, Kennedy said, “I take it Carrie didn’t work out.”

Bell shook their head and took up the glass to give it a sip. The vodka permeated the cranberry taste well, but it could’ve been stronger. “What gave you that idea?”

“That’s the same look you had when that one guy broke up with you a week after Valentine’s Day,” Kennedy replied. “What was his name? Gabe?”

Bell nodded, expression grim. “Yeah.” She took another sip.

“Sorry, Bell.” Kennedy sounded sincere about that, at least. “Want something to eat?”

Bell shook her head again. “This’ll do fine for now.”

“If you need to talk, you know where to find me,” Kennedy said with a nod. She turned her attention to another patron down the line, stepping over to him as she asked for his order.

Tilting the tumbler until its contents were millimeters from spilling over, Bell watched it with a deep frown, then straightened it out and lifted it to their lips to take another, deeper drink. This wasn’t their first time drinking over a failed relationship, of course. In fact, if they had their count right, this was the thirtieth time they’d sat and moped over this situation. Thirty tries to find love, all crashing and burning. How… depressing.

Bell set the glass down and fished out her phone, flipping through her contacts and holding it up to her ear. “Oh no, why are you calling me?” the voice on the other end said when he picked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with your girlfriend?”

He spoke in Banmal, and Bell returned it in kind as she said, “I think you already know.”

“You eat her memories?” the man asked.

“Of course I did.” Bell sipped her drink again and sighed. “I had to.”

“You could’ve just eaten her.”

“Key!” Bell hissed, glancing around the bar. No one was paying attention to them, of course. “You know I don’t do that.”

"Come on,” Key drawled. “It’s been what? Twenty years? Surely you’re feeling—"

“We’re not talking about this, Hyeon-ju.” Bell’s voice was firm. “I didn’t call you to talk about this.”

Key sighed and it sounded like static through the phone. “Right, sorry. Do you want me to come pick you up? We can go to the Smiling Shojo.”

“No,” Bell mumbled. “I don’t want to run into Reg. Besides, I’m already at the Sinking Ship.”

“Want me to join you?” Key asked.

“Maybe in a little bit.” She took another sip of her vodka-cran. Part of them wanted to say yes, to welcome Key over to commiserate with them, but they knew he’d just try to cheer them up and take their mind elsewhere. They didn’t want that quite yet. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bell replied. “Just let me get a few drinks in and uh, think a little bit.”

Key hummed. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” Bell repeated.

There was a brief silence. “Hey.”

Bell tilted her head. “Hmm?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Key said, his tone gentle. “It always is.”

At that, Bell couldn’t help but give a sardonic smile. “It always is.” She hung up and set her phone on the bar, glancing between the empty seats beside herself.

108 years in this world and alone once again. Admittedly, that was young for a gumiho, but when she’d seen whole generations come and go before her eyes, it didn’t feel like a short period of time. Humans came and went and came again, and here Bell was, watching them fall in love and have their families and be happy together. They made it seem so easy…

Not just humans, others as well. Their mind immediately drifted to their friend Momo, the baku who worked at the college bookstore. The dream-eating tapir had found love, and her girlfriend was a delight from what Bell could tell. They were so happy together that it almost made her angry. Was Momo better than them? Maybe she was just lucky. Maybe that’s what it was, that Bell was cursed when it came to such things. Maybe love was about how lucky you could get. But that didn’t seem right either. There were billions of people in the world, surely there was someone for everyone— several someones, really. Bell had never subscribed to the idea that there was only one soulmate per person in the world. Of course, believing that had done them no good so far. No matter how many offerings they gave to the moon on the lunar eclipse, it never revealed even one to them.