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this bar is so dingy.
that was the first thought that stumbled through your mind when one of your college friends (nari? mina? you honestly couldn't care enough to remember anymore) dragged you out of the comforting cocoon you'd built in your room. the funny part was, you barely knew her. she was a friend of your roommate’s. she’d just seen you there, tangled in a mess of blankets and pillows, stuffed animals wedged between your arms, laptop balancing on your knees, glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose. your eyes were swollen, red, but you’d never admit you’d been crying. of course not. too much pride for that.
so you went with her. only because she promised she'd pay for you this time around. it had taken you a good thirty minutes in the bathroom to fix the disaster your face had become. dark circles under your eyes, oily skin that felt too sticky but too dry to touch. when you finally stepped out, the girl (nari? mina? yeah, still didn’t care) was already rifling through your closet, pulling out the most revealing things she could find. fishnets included.
"seriously?" you’d deadpanned, one brow arching higher than the other, your newly applied winged liner crisp against the tiredness in your face, but wildly mismatched with the old pajama pants you were still wearing. "fishnets?"
"obviously. they're hot. and you-" she pointed a manicured finger at you like she was a prophet delivering wisdom, "-need to get over your ex. what was his name again? rin? jin?"
and now here you were. sitting in this grimy bar with nari/mina and your roommate chattering on about something you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. you’d ordered a beer, something light, easy to nurse while you tried to look like you were actually participating in life. but, of course, they’d swapped it out for shots the second your back was turned. now, the small glass in front of you gleamed under the weak bar lighting, its contents daring you to down it.
you sat there for a moment, your eyes drifting over the crowd, not really looking for anyone, but searching for something. maybe distraction. maybe an escape, someone to spend the night with. maybe just the strange, uncomfortable feeling of being out in the world again, untethered, alone. for the first time in what felt like forever, no one was clinging to you, no ex hovering over your shoulder. it was just you, out in the open. vulnerable, but somehow... free. you forced a smile, a hollow little thing, and wrapped your fingers around the shot glass, tipping it back in one smooth motion, letting the burn settle into your chest like an old friend.
you couldn't help but be reminded of how much he would probably love this place. old band posters, the kind with frayed edges and fading ink, were trapped in square frames littering the back wall. dark, almost suffocating wallpaper wrapped the room, and the specials were scrawled lazily in chalk on a blackboard wedged between bottles behind the bar. it all screamed suna rintarō. every inch of this place whispered his name in the back of your mind. and you, weirdly, hated and loved it all at once.
"here, take this," your roommate slides another shot glass across the table, and this time, you don’t bother protesting. "this one’s on me, yeah? it’s the first time you’ve left your room since-"
"okay, let’s not talk about that guy!" nari/mina cuts in with a forced cheerfulness, her voice a little too bright, like she’s trying to outrun the shadow of his name. "just drink, maybe find someone to sleep with, and let’s stuff our faces with greasy, high-calorie food before we head home!"
you snort, not bothering to mask the bitter amusement curling in your chest. typical. always trying to drown out the ghosts of the past with alcohol and bad decisions. but for now, you grab the glass and throw it back, feeling the burn take root deep in your throat. maybe tonight you'd let the noise win.
it’s when you hear something familiar, a song, drifting through the bar’s shitty speakers, that you’re reminded of him. of how much he loved this band. he used to play them all the time, without thinking—on repeat in his car, in that stupid, cramped apartment you secretly adored because it always smelled like him, like his cologne mixed with laundry detergent and something unnameable. he’d blast it through his dumb oversized headphones, the ones that barely fit his head so he had to extend them all the way.
you can still feel the weight of that first time he let you share his earphones, back when you were just friends. god, you hated the music. but of course, you didn’t tell him that. you were too soft for him back then. instead, you sugarcoated your words, trying to be polite. "rin, this isn’t really my taste."
"no way, this band is literally legendary-"
you’d laughed then, a light sound that came out before you could stop it. "but i really don’t like them that much. i tried to, though."
he’d looked at you, that insufferable, smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his eyes—that sharp, knowing chartreuse gaze—held yours like he already knew what you were thinking before you did. his hair had fallen perfectly, messily, and you remembered staring for just a second too long. even back then, you’d been a goner, though you didn’t know it yet. you curse yourself now for being in love from the very beginning.
and then, just like that, his gaze softened, his smile turned almost tender. "i’ll make you a playlist. beginner stuff. easy songs, stuff you’ll like, yeah?"
"yeah," you’d whispered, smiling so softly, feeling something bright and fragile fluttering inside your chest, like your heart would burst right out of your ribs and spill across the floor in excitement, like a kid with their first crush; it was so innocent, so harmless back then. you'd had no idea how much those moments would sink into your bones, becoming a part of the fabric of your memories.
so down you went with the shots, sitting in this dingy bar, one after the other. your roommate and nari/mina tried to slow you down—they really did. they swore they were doing their best. but every time you slammed an empty glass on the table, your finger shot up in the air, and the bartender, who had clearly decided to be your accomplice for the night, would refill it without a word. he had a sharp eye, always watching, always ready to pour another, as if he understood the silent plea you weren’t voicing.
it didn’t take long for the alcohol to settle in, for your mind to become heavy and fogged, circling back to him like it always did, like it never could stop. you tried to push it down, tried to drown it in the burn of the liquor, but his face was there, in the back of your mind, waiting to creep in the moment you let your guard down.
"why are you doing this?" you'd shouted, standing in his living room, fists clenched tight at your sides. your voice had shot up, higher and shriller than you intended, and suddenly, you'd felt like a child in front of him. a child in front of his infuriatingly calm, detached demeanor. he looked at you with that same unreadable expression, while fat, hot tears rolled down your cheeks, spilling freely as he put more distance between the two of you. the worst part? he didn’t try to stop them. didn’t even bother to wipe them away. his voice, in contrast to yours, had been so quiet, so measured, as if this was just another normal conversation and not the moment everything was about to break.
"rin, i’m not kidding," your voice had cracked, begging for something, anything from him, "be more serious. please."
"be serious?" he’d snapped, turning on his heel, his tone suddenly sharp and biting, the words spilling out with no filter. "all i am doing is being serious. you’re the one acting like a damn child, yelling, crying, hiccupping like any of this is going to fix what’s wrong." his voice was harsh, cutting deeper with every word, "seriously, when are you going to stop being so insecure?"
the second the words left his mouth, you saw it—the flash of regret, the widening of his eyes as he realized what he’d just said. but the damage was already done. you’d felt it, that shift in the air, the turning point you couldn’t come back from.
then for a few moments, you turned, and your friends were gone. or were you gone? you couldn't tell. your brain was muffled. just a few seconds ago, you were going to the restroom. were you? or were you going to get another drink? your head was spinning.
"goddamn it," you mutter under your breath, cursing yourself for ever listening to nari/mina. these clothes feel all wrong, and the fishnets dig into your skin, each prick like a tiny electric shock, raw and irritating. the walls seem like they’re slowly closing in, inching closer, and the music—loud and grating—scratches at the inside of your head, clawing for attention. you sniff, trying to keep your composure as you stumble toward the bar, your legs unsteady and your mind fuzzy. one hand reaches the cool surface of the bar, anchoring you, and you lift a finger, mouthing a request to the bartender for a glass of water.
"had a little too much?" someone asks, voice low, right behind you, and your heart stutters in response, then slams into your ribs. it feels like everything inside you just stops. you freeze, every nerve awake and alive, and the faint hairs on the back of your neck prickle, rising to remind you of the scent that wraps around you again. that smell—his smell. that god-awful cologne he’d always worn, the one you hated, reeking of cigarettes and something synthetic, chemical, sharp. and you’d laughed about it, complained about it, but he’d loved it.
you don’t have to look to know, but you do anyway. he’s already settled into the stool beside you, leaning casually against the bar’s edge, his eyes studying you with that knowing glint, the one that could read you so effortlessly, the one that tore through your facades. suna rintarō. right here, sitting inches away, just as he always had in the past. your throat tightens, but you force yourself to nod, keep your expression neutral, like his presence doesn’t unravel you from the inside.
the bartender slides a glass of water your way, and you clutch it like a lifeline, hoping the trembling in your hands isn’t as obvious as it feels.
"you look good. didn’t think i’d see you in a place like this—or, uh, looking like that." his words hang between you, weighted with something unsaid, and you know he’s talking about the clothes, the heels, maybe even the makeup you’d piled on your eyes just to survive a night like this. for a moment, his eyes widen, a flicker of surprise and regret crossing his face, and then, in a low voice, he adds, “sorry.”
he apologizes. you blink, trying to process the sound of it. so he knew how to apologize—just never cared enough to do it when it counted.
"didn’t think you had it in you," you say, voice sharp but steady, holding back the anger that simmers beneath the surface. he tilts his head, his brows knitting together in confusion, until the realization hits him, and he coughs, awkwardly. "r-right," he mumbles.
you let out a long sigh, pushing yourself off the stool with deliberate calm, every movement heavy. "have a nice night," you say, your voice soft but cold, the words final. “‘m going home.”
rin watches as you take your first shaky step, wobbly at first, the heel too high and unfamiliar. you almost slip, a quick fumble that you catch by clutching onto the stool. his eyes follow you with a concern that feels too late, a pang of regret in his gaze as you steady yourself and make for the exit. your friends, who dragged you here and insisted you needed this night out, are nowhere to be found now. fine. you’d get home yourself.
outside, the cool air wraps around you, a welcome relief that clears your head just enough. you pull out a pack of cigarettes from your pocket, the weight of the evening pressing down on you as you balance one between your lips. just as you’re about to light it, a hand reaches out, fingers slipping the cigarette from between your teeth. you glance up, and there he is again, standing too close, his face cast in shadows and regret.
"since when did you start this shit?" his voice is low, a little rough, but underneath it is something that sounds almost hurt.
"since you were a shitty boyfriend and couldn’t see that i was miserable with you," you snap back, the words coming out sharper than you intended, each syllable loaded with the weight of all the nights you spent feeling invisible beside him. his face falls, the mask of nonchalance slipping, his jaw clenching as the guilt seeps into his expression, almost painful to watch.
he opens his mouth, hesitating, looking at you as if trying to find the right thing to say—a rare softness in his eyes that you’d once searched for but never saw. and yet, even now, the words seem stuck in his throat, caught behind pride or shame or whatever it is that held him back back then.
"i didn’t know…" he starts, but it trails off, like he’s realizing the weight of what he missed. his hand lingers at his side, fingers flexing as if he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.
"yeah. you didn’t." you give a small, bitter laugh, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to speak again, to maybe say something that would make this all less heavy, to bridge the distance he created.
"let me take you home. you're drunk and it's not safe-"
"suna," you start, voice rough, as you blink back tears that are threatening, your tone heavy with something that feels like finality, "stop trying to act like you care. you have to have love to care. and you don't have even an ounce of it."
for a moment, he opens his mouth to respond, brows pulling together as though he’s searching for the right words. "i know you're angry," he starts, his voice softer, cautious, like he’s stepping around broken glass, "but come on. it's seriously not safe. let me at least drop you home-"
"i was alone when i was with you," you cut him off, the words tumbling out raw, unfiltered, almost desperate as they break in your throat. "and i'm alone even now. just… let me be." your voice splinters, hanging in the cold air between you, each word heavy with months of unspoken loneliness.
he flinches, eyes darkening, a flicker of shame crossing his face as he finally absorbs the truth in your words, as if realizing for the first time just how deep the hurt ran. he takes a small step back, jaw tightening as he watches you with a helplessness that’s unfamiliar, a man who thought he knew what you needed but, standing here now, realizes he got it all wrong.
"i didn’t…" he starts, voice trailing off, his gaze dropping to the ground, "i didn’t know it was that bad."
"i tried to tell you," you sigh, reaching to take the cigarette he still held—the one he’d stolen from your lips. you light it this time, hands a little shaky, letting the fire catch. “i really tried to make it work, you know? but i got tired.”
your voice is thick with something old, worn thin and tired, a sadness that almost feels soft in the night air. it’s like you’re still holding onto him, to all the empty spaces he left behind. and part of you is; you miss him. you miss rin like the first breath after waking up from a bad dream. you miss him like a kid clinging to their old toy, like a lover missing the warmth of skin against their own. you missed him so hard these past weeks that it felt like a sickness, something sour and raw sitting in your chest, refusing to go away.
and he hears it—he catches it, the way your voice lingers with all the things you can’t say. he lets out a breath, and you notice the way his shoulders dip, his gaze falling to the ground, his own voice nearly a whisper. "i know."
you inhale slowly, letting the smoke fill your lungs, reveling in the moment of stillness, watching it twist and curl into the night air, like the memories that keep twisting back in your mind. everything feels off-kilter, just wrong enough to ache. but he’s here, standing next to you, and that’s the only thing keeping you grounded, the familiar weight of him there, even when it doesn’t feel the same.
"come on, let’s get you home," he says, his voice softer than it’s ever been, holding a note of gentleness that catches you off guard. “i won’t stay, i promise. just… want to see you safe.”
the thought makes you pause, a flicker of warmth breaking through the sadness. and you smile, just barely—a bittersweet thing, small and fleeting, because the night, the silence, the lingering scent of him all remind you of what you both lost. maybe it’s enough, though, for now. maybe this will be the last thing you share, a walk home in the dark, a quiet promise he’s too late to keep.
"you won’t linger?” your voice is barely a breath, something fragile, almost as if daring him to say he would stay, one last time.
“i won’t linger.”
“okay.”
"okay."
you start walking, his footsteps softly matching yours, just a half-step behind, like he’s afraid to walk beside you. truth was, you had loved suna rintarō, but that love now felt hollow, like a prized possession tarnished over time, something left too long in the attic and covered in dust. he had been a part of you—a constellation of flaws and kindness and that easy smirk that lit him up. he was each familiar angle, each careless comment tucked into some soft, raw corner of your heart, where once you’d kept him like a treasure, a secret.
the love you had was still there, lingering in all the places he’d touched and left his mark. but now, it was a love gone stale, like fruit rotting at the edges, sweet but spoiled. he was the ache in your bones after a long night, the scar you’d kept hidden under fabric. you loved him like a collector loves his hoarded relics—each trait, every feature of his cataloged and memorized, a piece of your memories that you cherished but never dared to bring to light. because when something is hidden that long, it turns ugly; it rusts, it corrodes, like all the unsaid things rotting in your chest, words you’d swallowed and buried until even you couldn’t recognize them.
and he was there, just close enough to feel like home but distant enough to remind you of the thousand small cracks in the foundation. the way his fingers used to trace circles on your wrist, his laugh echoing in his apartment at some stupid show, the scent of his shitty cologne clinging to your clothes. those moments used to mean everything—pieces of him you held close, stored away like honey left too long in the comb, slowly crystallizing, losing its sweetness.
you reach the corner of your street, feeling the weight of his presence beside you like a shadow you’d once welcomed, but now it’s too heavy, too close. he stands back, hands slipping into his pockets, and you can’t help but notice how he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t close that last small distance between you.
“goodnight, then,” he says, a softness in his tone that feels wrong, like he knows how much he’s broken but can’t reach far enough to fix it.
“goodnight, rintarō,” you manage, voice barely steady. and with that, you step away, leaving the space between you filled with all the pieces of a love that used to be, that’s still there somewhere, but rotten through.
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