Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
Twangy guitar strings could be heard from the band on the small stage at the pub. It was a Friday night and frankly, you weren’t in any mood to socialize. To your advantage, you didn’t really stand out so there wasn’t much mingling going on except for the interactions between you and the barkeeper. The golden liquid in your cup swirled around, almost entrancing you in its spiral of movement. It had taken about two and a half cups of bourbon for you to get any semblance of a buzz.
Your vision was focused on the colors of the glass bottles perched up on the shelf behind the bar counter and it was clear that you were bored to anyone who cared to look at you. You weren’t exactly sure why you were here, you rarely ever went to bars. The only reasoning you could come up with for being here was due to the unbearable weight of the stress from this week and your overpowering desire to forget it.
Being a therapist had its moments.
The dream that you chased all throughout college until now had become a reality and yet.. You didn’t know what to do now. It wasn’t like you’d fallen out of love with your job — in fact, you knew the risks and pursued it anyway — but the recent weeks had felt more hellish than anything. Your eyes drifted from the group of burly men a few feet away at the bar counter to the bourbon in your glass. The honey-colored liquid burned and yet you still swallowed every drop in your pursuit to forget the burn-out you were plagued with.
Helping people wasn’t the issue — it was the fact that some of them sought out the help, without being willing to help themselves. It wasn’t rare, people were complex beings and it only made sense that talking about traumas and complicated, deep rooted feelings were hard to do. But it was this particular client that was driving you up the wall. You weren’t frustrated to the point of anger, but it was certainly troubling. Cooperation between clients was one of the pillars of your entire practice and if there was a lack of it, there was a high chance that they’d choose to end therapy before they could get better or worse, they’d take out their frustration on you.
Which is exactly what had happened today, hence the bandages around your arm.
Your eyes once again drifted to the group at the end of the counter. There were about three men, now joined by a woman that hadn’t been there the last time you’d glanced at them. There was a serious look on her face, one of the men donned a black balaclava with a skull plastered onto it. You didn’t exactly know why you placed such attention on a group of strangers, it was just something to do. Observing people was something you did often, a habit from your youth. Judging from their stiff body language, you surmised that they were clearly speaking about something important.
With a reluctant sigh, you slipped a bill under the glass and dug your hands into your pockets as you walked out of the pub in search of fresh air. The pub was getting stuffy and the sounds of interaction between people wasn’t helping with the stress you already felt. Bourbon had lessened it but it was still there. You slipped into the alley of the pub and leaned your back against the wall for a moment, closing your eyes and allowing the soft, fresh wind to kiss the skin of your cheeks and nose. A content sigh escaped your mouth, allowing you to see the puff of white in the air.
Rummaging around in your pockets, your fingers took hold of a familiar box within it. A pack of toothpicks, almost half empty by now if you remembered correctly. You fished out one of the black sticks within the pack and placed it in your mouth. You’d come to know some time during high school that gnawing on things was your specialty — a result of the stress you suppressed.
Heavy footsteps crunched the leaves on the sidewalk, growing closer to you. The sound of them pulled you out of your own head. All it took was a glance at your side to identify the man as one of the men from the group — the one with the skull balaclava. You closed your eyes to not make it obvious that you’d recognized him; Acknowledging him only when he muttered a greeting, which you returned. He walked into the alleyway a small distance from you and stood there fidgeting with something you couldn’t see. You knew what it was that he was doing when you heard the familiar sounds of a lighter being turned on and inhaled the smoke of his cigarette secondhand.
You bit on the toothpick in your mouth and all but glanced at the man before leaving the alleyway. You were curious to see what he was trying to hide with the mask but you didn’t care enough to stick around and find out.
A few moments later and you found yourself walking down the street underneath the pale moon. The cold of the air turned its kisses on the exposed skin of your face into a biting chill. It made you dig your hands into the depths of your pockets, taking as much warmth in as you could. You stopped focusing on the way the wind now felt frigid when you heard a familiar set of heavy footsteps a few feet behind you.
When you turned the corner you were able to sneak a glance at who it was and lo’ and behold, it was the same man with the skull balaclava. Did he live around here or was he just following you? Was he a stalker of some sort? You shook your head and bit down harder on the toothpick, surely leaving teeth marks on the plastic black stick. It was probably the effects of the bourbon in your system playing tricks on you. Despite this, your breaths were short and quick now and you began to pick up the pace until you reached the front door of your apartment complex.
The building wasn’t lavish but it wasn’t shabby either, more rustic and aged than anything. A sigh of relief escaped you when you reached the lobby. After collecting yourself for a moment, you walked up to your mailbox and unlocked it, paying no mind to the sound of the front door of the lobby opening. The sound of your mailbox closing shut echoed throughout the staircase. You walked up to your floor and made your way to your flat, the carpet floor muting your footsteps. Your brisk walk came to a halt immediately when you noticed the familiar tall and built silhouette of the masked man from earlier. He seemed to be unlocking the door right next to your flat.
“You again?” It was probably the alcohol in your system that caused you to blurt it out. You regretted it not even a second later because the tall man turned to look at you with a confused look in his eyes.
“Wha’?” His accent was thick and his voice gruff.
“From the pub-” you blurted, “-in the alleyway?” You walked up beside him once your words seemed to have clicked in his brain. He muttered an ‘oh’ but said nothing else which left you in quite the awkward situation. “Sorry, that was rude of me- I just didn’t expect to see you here. I..uh, wasn’t aware you lived here.” You were in a rush to explain yourself but instead of clearing the awkward air, it only further fueled your embarrassment.
When he didn’t say anything else, you just offered an awkward smile. “Nevermind, forget I said anything, have a good night, sir.” Without wasting another second, you unlocked your door hastily and speed-walked into your flat. A chuckle escaped your lips while you slid down your door and sat propped up against the door. Suddenly the ordeal was funny to you.
How did an observant person like you never notice the tall man that lived next door? It was hard for you to miss even the smallest of details considering the fact that your job relied on your ability to perceive the most minute bits of information, so how was he able to escape your sharp eyes? “Inattentional blindness..” you muttered to yourself, another laugh escaping your mouth at the realization that you had missed his being there simply because your mind deemed that an unimportant detail which in turn caused you to miss the fact that he lived right next door.
But once you really started to think about it, you wondered if the fact that you never noticed him was due to your negligence or the fact that he made himself a ghost. Now that you thought about it, was there ever a moment when you crossed paths with him in the morning? You never saw him coming from work, nor did he ever greet you if he did see you. Slowly but surely, your mind was filling up with questions about him.
Like a moth to a flame, you were suddenly drawn to him.
Just who exactly was he?