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The distant sounds of cars and traffic in the distance accompanied Atlas’ steps that echoed in the empty stairwell.
Atlas looked out of the window as he walked up the confusing set of stairs that led to his usual bar. Honestly, the bar was a hidden gem. People had to walk through a dark, sketchy hallway and stairs to even get here.
It was around 8 PM when he got off work. He immediately went straight to a bar to get some time for himself.
Usually, he'd just get wine. But today, he decided that he'd get something “stronger” than wine. He anticipated something not too hard like vodka, but also not something ‘weak’ like beer.
Atlas walked into the bar. Unlike the hallway and stairs that came before it, it looked livelier.
But it was almost empty. Almost. "Ah, von Lützow!" The bartender greeted Atlas, gesturing to sit next to a man. "Why don't you accompany this gentleman here?"
Atlas tilted his head to the side, only looking at the bartender. He glanced at who he was going to sit with, the two making eye contact for a split second, before the man looked away to his drink.
"Uh..." Atlas thought that he wasn't the best at accompanying people, really. "Sure..." Atlas reluctantly accepted. He looked at the sole patron of that night: A man about his height with black hair.
Who also looked menacing.
He was someone who he hadn’t seen around the bar before.
Atlas sat in front of the bartender's counter, next to the man. The man looked at him as he sat down. He gave the man a nod, who was looking at him like he was a threat. The man looked uninterested, as he took a sip of his whiskey.
“How you doin’?” The bartender asked him.
“Terrible day,” Atlas grumbled. “But as always, fine as wine.” Atlas extended his limbs, some bones cracking as he stretched.
"Your usual?"
Atlas shook his head. "No, no," He broke his gaze as he looked at the bartender. "I wanted to have something hard today." He sighed. “Bloody hell,” The bartender giggled. “This is new.”
"I still love my wine though." Atlas added in with a giggle, with Gallagher giggling as well. "Give me time to think." He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and took deep breaths.
He ran a hand through his face as he took breaths, before setting them down.
He didn’t have any plans for tonight. No plans on what to drink, he just wanted something hard.
He took a quick look at the man next to him as he played around with the glass of whiskey that he was holding, seemingly out of boredom.
Who wouldn’t be bored, after all?
Then he looked back at Atlas, like he had detected that he was looking.
Atlas gulped but decided to not look away. For a few seconds, they both just stared at each other.
Until the stranger began to inspect him, with his eyes trailing up and down Atlas in a judgemental way before he looked back into his eyes with a piercing stare. One that asked him ‘Do you want to be beat up?’
It reminded him of a specific someone in his past.
Atlas sneered and turned to look at the bartender. He exhaled once again before he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his face.
Atlas wondered how he was going to talk to this guy. It seemed like he had already done something wrong that this guy didn't like.
Who even is this guy?
Atlas wondered as he stole another quick glance at the man. He gave off a “nerdy hacker” vibe, which Atlas judged based on the man's baggy clothes.
He is dressed in dark, semi-formal clothing that complimented his complexity well.
The mysterious guy reminded him of something that Atlas can’t seem to put his tongue on…
The silence went on for a minute. He watched the bartender clean a glass while he thought about what to order, the terrible day he is having, and why the man was looking at him like that.
While thinking about what to order, he also noticed that he had recently been coming to this bar on a nightly basis. It’s probably why the bartender was familiar with what he was going to be drinking. He was probably the only one who ordered at least three glasses of red wine every night.
It didn’t help that he came in times when it would be empty and already had a name in Vienna as a photojournalist.
And all of this stems back to his late boyfriend, Mattia. For a job that required focus, it would be really hard to focus on one thing if all he thinks about is how cameras remind him so much of his late boyfriend.
He gave Atlas tips to be good, after all. Even to this day, he still uses them.
And while thinking, he realized what he should order.
Atlas clicked his tongue as he straightened his posture. "Hey Gallagher," Atlas watched the bartender, Gallagher, turn around.
"Get me a gin tonic with lemon."
It was Mattia’s favorite drink.
God fucking damn it.
Atlas bit back a curse as he realized that.
"A'ight." The bartender replied as he immediately got to work.
Atlas placed his messenger bag on the floor and slouched onto the bartender's counter with his arms folded. Atlas notices that two of the other bartenders were missing. "Where's Moe and Lloyd?" Atlas watched the bartender skillfully make his gin tonic.
"They dropped off a drunk guy somewhere." Gallagher served the highball glass in front of Atlas. " ‘Tis your first time with that?" Gallagher leaned closer to Atlas, who sat up once he saw the drink.
"No." He picked up the glass and took a sip. "My partner loved these..." He let out a breathy exhale as he set the drink down. It tasted good. It was the right balance of sweet and sour.
Refreshingly fantastic.
“God, these are good.” Atlas
"Cheers to you, damn maestro." He smiled at Gallagher. “Cheers to me.” Gallagher grinned, taking an empty glass that he was cleaning and clinking it with Atlas’ glass.
Atlas turned his head to the menacing man next to him—he was watching them, which made Atlas shiver—and awkwardly raised his glass. "Cheers?"
The man stared at him in silence, opened his mouth a bit, but quickly shut it, seemingly holding back what he was saying.
Atlas wondered if the man had something to say.
They kept that awkward silence and position for five seconds, before the man reluctantly raised his glass and coldly replied, “Cheers.”
And they clinked their glasses as well.
Atlas took another sip of his drink. He took in the cool and sour-sweet flavor that it had thanks to the lemon juice and ice that Gallagher had added into the drink.
Atlas occasionally stole glances at the man next to him, only using his eyes to look at him.
Something about the guy drew Atlas in and he didn’t even know what it was.
The man looked at him once more. Once again, like he had detected that Atlas was looking at him.
Atlas felt his heart drop. The man was looking at him with daggers. It was a firm and cold look. Atlas immediately looked away.
“Do you need anything from me?”
The man spoke to him.
Atlas doesn’t reply. In fact, he closed his eyes. He wondered if he was about to be beat up or something. Then, a hand was placed on his shoulder.
Now that’s something he didn’t expect.
Atlas jolted, slapping the hand away before turning towards the man. They stare at each other’s eyes. Atlas, eyes wide, and the man, eyes narrow. The man gazed at Atlas once more, his eyes scanning him up and down.
Atlas placed a hand on the counter.
“Is there a problem between you two?”
Gallagher interjected.
Atlas doesn’t say anything. He shook his head. “No, no, no…” He looked at Gallagher with a cheeky smile. “All is fine.”
“No, it isn’t.” The man interrupted him. “You clearly have a problem with me.”
Atlas stammered and stuttered. He tried to say something, but nothing came out of his throat. He felt his heart pound against his chest. He looked between the bartender and the mysterious man.
“I- Well… I insist that…” Atlas began to stammer again. “Okay. No- no...” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves. “I don’t have a problem with you.” He sighed. After opening his eyes, he looked at the man next to him.
“It’s just that…” He paused, looking down. Atlas didn’t know whether he should say this or not. “You look at me like…” Atlas let his words trail off into nothing. The man merely chuckled at this.
“Like?” The man leaned into his direction. Atlas leaned away from him and stayed silent with eyebrows knit and mouth slightly open.
“Come on, Atlas. Tell me.”
And holy fucking shit. The man knew who he was. He felt his heart jump when he heard his name come out of that man’s mouth. The way he said it made Atlas feel something, like a chill running down his spine.
The man spoke to him in this cold and sharp tone, and at some point, maybe even in a teasing voice.
Atlas looked up for a second, he could see that the man was smirking. “Like?” Atlas stayed silent but kept eye contact.
He didn’t know what to do or say.
Atlas gulped. He looked to his side—at Gallagher—and saw that he had his back turned from the two men. Atlas sat at just the right angle to see that the man was smiling.
“I look at you like what?”
Atlas kept his gaze to the side. He wasn’t going to be fucking around with this guy. “I won’t bite, Atlas.”
Atlas closed his eyes as he heard his name come out of that damn man’s mouth once again. He wondered what he deserved to be put in this situation, and why he had to meet this man now when the bar was empty.
“Tell me and I won’t bother you.” The man demanded.
Atlas shook his head, chuckling in despair. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The man places a hand on his shoulder once again, Atlas slaps it aside again—gasping—as his eyes snap open.
“Why the fuck are you so desperate to know?”
Atlas raised his voice. And the fallout? The bar fell silent, Gallagher stopped what he was doing for a second, and the man’s smirk faltered for a second.
Atlas breathed hard. He looked around the room: Gallagher resumed what he was doing and the man’s smirk was not as wide as it was before he shouted at him.
“I’m sorry.” Atlas silently apologized. Then, silence filled the room. Atlas looks back at the man, watching his eyes gaze up at Atlas' form. This time, he didn’t even care. The man looks straight into his eyes. The man’s smirk was nowhere to be seen this time.
… Was he about to be beat up?
Atlas thought to himself. He gulped, looking at the man. He holds one of his hands up, as if he was readying himself if the man was going to punch him or something.
“It’s fine.” He replied, his voice suddenly soft.
But it really wasn’t.
“No, no, I’m just in a terrible mood.” Atlas insisted, taking a huge sip of his drink as he turned away from the man.
Atlas really was in a terrible mood. This is why he wanted something hard in the first place.
“…”
“…”
Then the awkward silence envelops them once again as they look at each other, eye to eye.
The silence felt thick and deafening. Atlas felt like he was being strangled by the awkwardness of this whole thing.
At last, Atlas took his messenger bag from the floor and stood up. He placed it over his head, zipped one of the compartments open, pulled his wallet out, took out €20, and placed it on the bartender’s counter.
“Keep the change.”
And he turned towards the exit.
“Wait.”
A hand grabs him by the wrist.
“…”
Atlas’ heart leapt out of his chest. He jumped slightly, but he stayed where he was. He faced the exit, waiting for what the other man had to offer.
“I’m really sorry.” He apologized. Atlas doesn’t say anything. He only looked at the exit and wanted to leave this area. “I really am.” The man added amidst the silence.
Atlas closed his eyes.
“So are you going to stay?”
Was this guy really convincing me to sit back down with him?
Atlas asked himself. And it was working, as Atlas turned toward the man. “Fine.”
Atlas wondered why this guy suddenly wanted him to stay. It was like nothing happened between them a minute ago.
Atlas placed his bag on the floor and sat back down on the stool. Atlas sat, turned away from the man, and took his drink. Atlas took a little sip as the man drags the €20 back to Atlas.
“This is yours.” The man would say.
Atlas looked back at him over his shoulder. “… That’s my payment.” Atlas said with a scowl. The man merely chuckled at those words. Atlas’ heart pounded against his chest, like it was trapped and trying to escape.
“I’m paying for it.”
Atlas’ eyes flickered wide for a split second.
Why’s he paying for my drink now?
After some seconds of thinking, Atlas shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine…” Atlas looked at him. “Uh… What’s your name?”
“…”
The man looked into his eyes for a few seconds. That same stare that said ‘I will beat you up’ which was paired with a slight smile on his lips.
The way this guy quickly switched up seamlessly drove Atlas crazy. One moment, he would be cold, the next moment, he would be playful, the next moment, he would be neutral, and then the next moment, he would suddenly be back to being really cold.
As he continued to stare into Atlas’ soul, Atlas wondered if he shouldn’t ask what the man’s name was.
“I insist on paying for it.” The man said after a few seconds of starting into Atlas’ eyes. He said it had a more neutral expression this time.
Atlas looked at him, mouth open and brows furrowed, like he had been offended—he kind of was offended. “… Huh!?” He exclaimed. And now, it looks like he had an aneurysm.
That really blew his mind.
Why the hell would this stranger insist on paying for his drink?
Atlas wondered why this guy, who was looking at Atlas like he wanted to beat him up to a pulp, was now wanting to pay for his gin tonic? Maybe it was because he scared Atlas and felt guilty about it.
But could this guy even feel guilty about things?
“Wh…” Atlas began to stammer, his hands jittery as he tried to look for the right words. “Why?” Atlas looked at the man carefully, trying to read him.
For someone as observant as Atlas…
This guy was completely unreadable.
It was like he was looking at a complicated puzzle. There was only one other person who has ever made Atlas feel as helpless and nervous as this.
Mattia fucking Carolingio.
His late boyfriend.
There’s no way. There was no fucking way. This guy wasn’t even anywhere close to Mattia. Never. He will never be like Mattia…
And even when meeting someone new, Mattia comes in and reminds Atlas of who he was.
Mattia reminds Atlas of how significant he was in Atlas’ life. And like a damn parasite, he clings to Atlas’ mind, eating Atlas’ brain alive and he doesn’t even see it happening before it’s too late.
“I just wanted to.” The man replied in a nonchalant tone.
“???”
“What?”
“What the fuck?”
…
As every second passed, Atlas wondered how this guy kept getting crazier and even more absurd than he was.
He looked between the man and the €20 that was trapped between the man’s hand and the counter.
The €20 was tempting, but for someone like Atlas, it was… Not much. After all, Atlas didn’t buy much aside from cameras and his expenses. No vacation, no trips, no anything. His paycheck was piling up without even spending much.
“You can keep your 20.” Atlas slid the man’s hand away. Dear Lord, his hand was as cold as a dead body. Atlas wondered why he didn’t notice that earlier.
The man giggled, looked to the side, and rubbed his nose. “I said I insist.” He said in a firm voice.
Atlas was about to go into cardiac arrest because of this man. “Okay, okay, okay…” Atlas gulped, looking around.
The bartender was still doing his stuff.
“Fine, fine.” Atlas snatched the €20 from the man and put it in his pocket. Atlas turned away from him. “Just leave me alone.” He took his drink and took another sip.
Luckily, the drink was enough to calm his nerves.
And they fall into this awkward silence once again. Atlas continued to sip his drink, but he still felt on edge.
He waited for the man to strike at him with whatever scheme he had.
He had no business with Atlas, and Atlas knew that. Earlier, he looked uninterested. But suddenly, he was now bothering Atlas, like he had realized something or what.
Atlas shook these thoughts out of his head.
Surely, this guy didn’t have any ulterior motives. He doesn’t even know who he was. Not even a name or something.
Still, Atlas decided to be wary of the man.
Atlas took another sip of his lemon gin tonic. Then he realizes that he has never felt this nervous in this long.
He was a bit cooked. He closed his eyes and hoped for the best. He wished for the man to leave and let him have his drink in peace.
Atlas turned towards the shelves windows of the cabinet above the bartender. Those cabinets had beer, wine, liquor. It had all sorts of drinks.
But it also reflected them like a mirror.
Atlas looked at the man through that reflection. He could see him finish his glass of whiskey. Atlas silently hoped that the man was done and was going to leave.
“Hey.” He spoke up.
Atlas held his breath.
“Can you pour me another glass of whiskey?”
Fuck.
Atlas took another sip of his lemon gin tonic. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he was already used to this feeling.
A hand suddenly taps him in the shoulder. Atlas jolted and turned toward the man. The first thing he sees is the man’s smile forming. “You are a jumpy fella.” He chuckled.
Atlas furrowed his eyebrows, pushing his glasses up. “What do you want?” He says in a firm tone, before holding his breath in anticipation.
Atlas expected the worst for the next question.
“Do you know how to take the best shot?”
…
Atlas didn’t expect that question. Some weight is taken off his shoulders. He exhales. “Uhm…”
Atlas knew that the man knew that he was a photojournalist. It was how the man called him by his name earlier, after all.
“I guess…” He blinked at the man and took a sip of his gin tonic.
Gallagher gives the man clean old fashioned glass with ice, before taking out a bottle of Vat 69 and pouring it on the rocks.
“Me too.” The man said with a smile. He looked at Gallagher and nodded at him. “Thanks.” He muttered out. “‘Course.” The bartender replied.
Atlas wondered if he should ask why the man asked him that out of the blue. But he was also afraid to be met with some judgemental stare from the man.
His mind was reeling, because what if the man was secretly losing his patience?
Then would suddenly beat Atlas up?
That’s what he feared.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “Why do you ask..?” Atlas carefully asked.
“I wanted to ask how you would do it.” The man would drum his fingers against the wooden counter of the bar.
Atlas went silent. “Uh…” He looked around, clearing his throat. “Okay, wait give me a few seconds to think.”
“Okay.”
Atlas sat up properly to try to compose himself as he thought about that question…
I mean, what he would do is just… To be there in the moment. He took pictures based on feel and vibe.
Mattia’s advice kept playing in his head. It drove him crazy.
“Alright so…” Atlas looked at the man. The man turned to the side, towards the counter, as he took his drink and took a sip. “I guess… My advice is just to be there in the moment.” Atlas placed a hand on his nape, looking down as he thought of what to say. “f/8 and be there.” The two made eye contact once more as the man looked at him once again.
“f/8 and be there… That’s a quote by a New York photographer, Weegee.” Atlas took a sip of his drink. “It’s not just… You know, taking shots, adjusting your settings… I mean, it might be different for other fields of photography, but for my field, you have to know the area well and some certain things. You have to immerse yourself.”
Atlas felt like he was giving an interview.
Atlas took a longer sip this time, feeling the gin burn down his throat. “That’s how a war photographer would do it…” He smiled at the man. The man nodded at him. “Mhm.” He took a sip of his whiskey.
Atlas has calmed down, for now. His thoughts had been driven back to Mattia. After all, Mattia was the one who gave him that advice and that quote.
It was like Mattia possessed him and said that…
The two were silent for a few seconds. This time, it wasn’t awkward. Atlas took a sip of his gin tonic and faced forward once again.
“I take them from a distance.”
“What?” Atlas turned at the man.
What hell does that mean?
“I take my shots from a distance.”
“… I see…” Atlas nodded. He was a bit puzzled because who would take shots from a distance? “At a distance…” He muttered out to himself.
“I find a target and make sure my settings are right,” he turned towards Atlas, took a sip of the whiskey, “then I shoot.” He smiled.
That was no ordinary way to shoot photos.
“So are you like… A nature photographer?”
The man only laughed. “Close enough.” He paused for a few seconds, gazing into Atlas’ eyes before looking away. “I hike to get the perfect shots, after all.”
Atlas began to read his face… He doesn’t look like he would be a nature photographer… Maybe a landscape photographer?
So Atlas began listing things that needed to be taken from a distance…
“So what kind of things do you shoot? Nature? Planets? Buildings?”
“People.”
“Oh…”
‘He photographs people from a distance? That’s a unique way of shooting photos...’
Atlas thought to himself.
“I’m very technical with the way I shoot.” He turned away from Atlas and took a sip of his drink. “I consider every factor. Every little detail.”
If he is meticulous, then this guy doesn’t do street photography… It was something that was hard to do if he cared about every little detail…
‘God, this guy is fucking with my brain.’
“I’m confused… But sure…” Atlas scratched his head. The man only chuckled. “People get confused when they meet me.” The man replied. Atlas watched him take a sip of his whiskey.
“Okay but… Why from a distance?” Atlas asked. The man turned toward him, his eyes piercing through Atlas’ soul as he gave Atlas that judgemental looking stare again.
“… Nevermind.”
Atlas turned away from the man, taking a sip of his own drink.
His mood was a bit lightened from that talk. He wasn’t sure if this guy was a full-time photographer like him, but he seemed to know things and was very technical.
Still, Atlas wondered how he would shoot photos from a distance. And from what it seemed like, he wasn’t too keen on people asking him questions.
Atlas would take note of that. He doesn’t want to see that “look of judgement” from the man. Every time the man would do it, Atlas would feel himself wilting.
The two come in silence once again, simply minding their own business.
But to be honest, Atlas was bored. Normally, he would talk to someone new. He liked meeting strangers. But the stranger next to him? Atlas could say that his blood was beginning to boil if it wasn’t for the fact that the man could and would probably beat him up if he said that.
He just decided to wait it out. He was going to finish his drink and immediately head home.
He didn’t want any business with this guy.
Atlas took another sip of his drink. He looked at the man through the reflections in the glass cabinet. He took another sip.
However, again, as if the man had a detector for when someone was looking at him, the man looked back through the reflection.
“…” Atlas quickly averted his gaze and to the bartender’s table.
He was too good. It was like he had a 6th sense for detecting when people were looking at him.
Atlas sipped his drink. It was about halfway now. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded and dizzy, but he didn’t care. It was what he wanted anyway.
A minute or so went by. The bar was completely silent. Gallagher walked out of the bartender’s stall and to the exit, holding a cigarette. Atlas' eyes followed him, as he began to silently panic inside his head.
Is Gallagher really leaving me with this weird fucking guy?
No shot.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” He said, turning to the two men just as he was about to leave.
“I trust both of you. I’ll just go for a quick smoke.”
And he stepped into the little hallway between the stairs and the entrance.
Atlas hoped that Gallagher would be quick.
Atlas took another sip of his gin tonic.
But despite despising the man, he doesn’t know why he feels like something is drawing him into the man. Something about him is something Atlas can’t quite describe.
He was like a black hole sucking him in.
And another minute passes by. It was silent, and the occasional clinking of their glasses broke the silence whenever they placed their glasses on the bartender’s counter. Atlas was slouched onto the bartender’s table. He was feeling drowsier.
The alcohol was definitely kicking in now.
The man stands up. Atlas sat up straight, as he looked at the man through the reflection of the glass cabinets.
He wondered if this mysterious man was leaving. But seeing that he had left his belongings under his seat… It wasn’t likely that he’d be leaving.
“Do you play pool?”
“…”
It was a question Atlas didn’t expect but it intrigued him. Atlas directly looks at the man at this time, turning around to see him pick up a cue stick.
This guy is full of surprises. Everything he did was so random, but always shocked Atlas.
“So?” He looked at Atlas.
“Sorry. Uhm…” Atlas looked around and stood up. “Yeah.” He walked over to one of the pool tables the man was nearby. Next to it was a locker with cue sticks and cases of billiard balls inside.
Atlas hasn’t played in some time, but he used to be really good at it. He wondered if his skills rusted over time, but he hoped that it didn’t.
This guy, however, looks like he doesn’t play billiards. He doesn’t even look like he drinks alcohol, let alone whiskey. Atlas was convinced that this young guy was in his mid 20s and so on.
Atlas opens the locker and takes a cue stick.
He had originally come here to drink something hard and leave… But now, he was playing billiards at half-past nine…
The man was already setting up the arrangement of the rack, 1 ball in the front, 8 ball in the middle, and a solid and stripe in the left and right corner respectively.
“This is 8-ball… Right?” Atlas looked at the man to make sure. The man simply nodded, moving the rack forward and backward to make sure that there are no gaps between the balls.
“So who breaks it?” Atlas asked, standing opposite of the man, who stood at the other short edge of the pool table. The man didn't say anything, as he walked over to Atlas’ side. But he doesn’t get a reply for a man.
“Do we just do the lag or..?” Atlas crossed his arms and held the cue stick with them. He didn’t like that the man was suddenly silent. “Yeah.”
Atlas nodded in understanding. He takes the cue ball as the man takes the 1 ball. They both place down the balls on the baulk line.
“On three.”
Atlas held his breath.
Not too weak, not too strong.
“One, two, three.”
And they struck with their cue sticks at the same time. The balls hit the opposite edge of the pool table, before bouncing back to where they came from.
The goal of “lag” in pool was to be the closest to the adjacent side as the ball is shot towards the opposite side and comes back. Too weak means risking a shot that doesn’t come back to the adjacent side, and too strong means risking a shot that is too fast to stop near the adjacent side.
Whoever had the closest ball was going to be the one who would break the triangle formation of balls in the center and the first one to take his turn.
As the balls come back, Atlas’ cue ball hits the side adjacent to them and moves toward the opposite side once again before stopping just before the baulk line, while the man’s ball precisely hits the adjacent side.
And it bounced back less than an inch away.
Atlas gulped. This guy was good.
Because the man’s 1 ball was closer to the adjacent edge than Atlas’, that means he breaks the rack.
“Good shot.” Atlas remarked. The man doesn’t reply, as he takes the 1 ball and places it back in the triangle rack. He moves it forward and backward again, before precisely putting it in the center and carefully removing the triangle rack.
Now, the 15 balls were neatly arranged in a triangle position.
The man takes the cue ball and places it just before the baulkline and at an angled position, off to the left side. Atlas steps aside to watch the man get into position and break the triangle formation the balls had.
The man seemed to do everything precisely. It looked like this guy wasn’t lying when he said that he had lots of attention to detail, even to small things. Talk about preciseness and meticulousness.
The man struck the cue ball, hitting the 1 ball in the center. The balls spread out, and the 15 ball falls into the opposite left pocket of the table. The cue stops at the right side of the pool table, next to the rails and just past the middle-right pocket.
Atlas walks away to get both drinks the two left behind on the counter—the gin tonic and the whiskey—and walks back to the man. He places both of the drinks in an
Atlas realizes that he is likely to lose this match. But he didn’t really care, he thought that it would be alright to lose. It wasn’t like he was risking or betting anything.
“…”
They play in silence as the man circles the table. Atlas watched him circle the table. His face returned to that cold, thinking look that he had when Atlas first saw him earlier.
After some moments, he finally decided and moved to the right side of the pool table. He first rubbed chalk on the tip of his cue stick as he aimed his sights at the 1 ball that was just ahead of the cue ball.
Atlas watched in silence as he flawlessly got into position. His body was as still as a mannequin as he aimed carefully, before he struck the cue.
The cue slams into the 1 ball with a clack. It ricochets off to the left, passing between the 5 ball and the 9 ball, and slamming into the 4 ball.
The 1 ball falls into the opposite-left pocket while the 4 ball falls into the opposite-right pocket.
Two birds with one stone.
A shot that impressed Atlas.
“Wow.” He knew that he was probably going to lose this.
The cue ball was now sandwiched between the 10 ball and the 12 ball. The 5 ball was just ahead, but it was a tricky angle to shoot.
But the man got into position and struck the cue ball with precision. The cue ball collides with the 5 ball, sending it to the middle-right pocket.
“…”
The man was already down 3 balls. Only four left.
The cue lands at the adjacent side of the pool table. The 6 ball hugged the adjacent rail, the 2 ball sat just past the middle-left pocket with the 11 and 13 balls blocking the opposite-left pocket, the 7 ball sat behind the 14 ball that blocked it from the pool table.
There was one shot that he could make, which was the 3 ball, but even that had a tricky angle.
Atlas sees that the man has to shoot at an angle to make sure that it enters the middle-right pocket.
Atlas watched the man get into position. He wondered if this guy would precisely get the 3 ball in. As he struck the cue ball, it hit the 3 ball.
However, he missed. The angle was a bit short, as it bounces off the rail and hits the 7 ball.
It was now Atlas’ turn.
He was relieved, because he thought that he wasn’t going to get a turn.
“I tell you what,” The man suddenly spoke up. “If you win, I’ll get you a drink of your choice. If I win, vice versa. Deal?”
Atlas looked at him, a smile forming in his lips.
Was this a challenge?
“Sure.” Atlas grinned, his head tilting to the side. “Are you actually going to do it?” And the man nodded. It was all he needed to see to lock the fuck in.
Game on.
He walked towards the man, holding his hand out. “Deal.”
And they shook hands.
The man’s cold hand enveloped Atlas’ warm ones. This guy felt like he came out of the freezer or something. They shook hands firmly, and as Atlas let go, he began to analyze the table.
And now, he begins to plan out his strategy… He immediately spots an opening, where he can just shoot the 12 ball into the opposite-left pocket. He walked toward the right side of the table and rubbed chalk on the tip of the cue stick.
Atlas bends over and positions the cue stick carefully. He aims for the center mass of the cue ball, moving the stick back and forth to make sure that he hits at the right place. He can see the man looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he pays no attention to that.
And he sends it. With a clack, the cue ball hits the 12 ball and it falls in the opposite-left pocket. The cue ball stops just near the 8 ball. The angle was barely enough for Atlas to make the second shot, the 10 ball.
He struck the cue ball, it hit the 10 ball, which also fell into the opposite-left pocket. The cue ball lands in front of the 11 and 13 balls.
Atlas moved over to the adjacent side of the table to make the next shot. He aimed for the 13 ball, where he can just easily send it into the opposite-left pocket.
Atlas got into position again, and slid the cue stick in between his hands. He catches a glance from the man.
He keeps sliding the cue stick as he maintains eye contact with the man, who was leaning against one of the other pool tables.
Atlas raised his eyebrow, giving him a ‘What are you looking at?’ look. The man narrowed his eyes and waved him off.
But the way the man was leaning against the pool table… It made Atlas feel something. But he chose to ignore it. It might throw him off course and he might accidentally miss.
Arrogantly keeping eye contact, he hits the cue ball into the 13 ball. It gets in the opposite-left pocket like all the balls he has scored so far.
And now, they both were equally down by 3 balls.
The cue ball bounced back close to the center. This next shot was a tricky shot. Everything was blocked by solid balls.
There was an opening where he could shoot the 14 ball into the middle-right pocket, but it was risky since he could accidentally hit the 2 ball, which would cause a foul.
Atlas thought about it… He could risk that shot or go for the 11 ball, which he could also shoot into the opposite-left pocket.
Atlas aimed for the 11 ball, but as he aimed, he realized that it would be a trap. The cue ball would be surrounded by solid balls, and thus, it would give the man a chance to win.
He chuckled to himself at this realization.
Thank Lord he had an attention to detail.
Atlas adjusted his angle. He turned to the 14 ball, and carefully placed the stick above the 2 ball. The last thing he wanted was to nudge it, even by a little bit.
He held his breath and hit the cue ball.
It moves past the 3 ball and hits the 14 ball. The 14 ball is sent flying into the middle-right pocket.
Nice and steady, just like that…
He moves to another side again and aims for the 13 ball. The cue ball bounced back to where it originally was. He made eye contact with the man once again, and without looking or making sure of his aim, he struck the cue ball with moderate force and threw in the 13 ball into the opposite-left pocket.
“Slow, just like that…” He would mutter out under his breath, grinning to himself.
Atlas moved to the left side of the table to shoot in the last striped ball, which was 9. He flawlessly shot it in the opposite-right pocket.
And just like that, only the 8 ball was left.
He looked at the man’s face, who looked disinterested. Before making his shot, Atlas walked toward him and took the gin tonic that sat next to where the man was leaning in. It was nearly empty, so he just finished it.
To claim his victory, he walked to the left side of the table—it was where the cue ball was—and aimed at the 8 ball.
The grin and the smile faded away as he took on a more neutral look. He closed one eye, making sure to aim properly. It would be embarrassing to miss now, when he had just acted so arrogantly.
He slides the cue stick in between his fingers as he lined up the shot. He could see the man looking at him.
And just as he was about to take the shot.
“Wait.”
Atlas looked up at the man, who was now making his way towards Atlas. “You’re going to hit the corners. That’s not the right angle.” He would warn Atlas.
But Atlas wasn’t buying it. Atlas knew what he was doing, he was literally about to win and this guy was probably doing this to distract him or something.
“Sure, sure.” He said while chuckling. “What’s the right angle then? Show me.”
“… Okay.”
The man walked behind him. “Like this.” Then, he felt something cold grab onto his arms. His heart leaps out of his chest, he gasps, and he is moved slightly to the left with his arms. “Good.” He feels the man’s chest press against his back. Atlas holds his breath.
A metallic-sulfur smell came from the man. He didn’t realize what it was, but it felt familiar to Atlas. It brought back memories in his days in war journalism with Mattia.
Atlas freezes up. He realizes that the man was on top of him. His brain becomes static as his thoughts drift off.
It was then that he realized that the guy was grabbing him. “Take the shot.” The man would whisper into his ear. Despite the man being cold, Atlas felt like he was melting.
And so he took the shot.
The cue stick struck the cue ball. It moves at a moderate pace—not too fast, not too slow—and slams into the 8 ball. Atlas nervously watches as the 8 ball moves closer and closer to the bottom-left corner.
He could feel the man’s breath hit his neck. It was not as cold as his body, but it was cooler than an average Joe's breath.
He couldn’t focus on the 8 ball when someone was literally on top of him.
“You did it.” The man said. “Well done.” He would whisper into his ear—almost seductively—as he felt the man pull finally away from him. Those words made Atlas' heart begin pounding wildly and fluttering again. Atlas inhaled deeply, compensating for however-long he held his breath when the man “helped him.”
Whatever this guy did always had an effect on Atlas.
Atlas stood there, frozen, in the shooting position. His face was pale like he’d seen something horrific, same with his wide eyes and mouth.
He looked back at the man, who just had a nonchalant expression on his face like nothing happened. “What drink, Atlas?”
The mention of his name snaps him out of his shocked state. He blinks at the man, shaking his head. “Wh-what?”
What the hell just happened???
He looked around, the man was no longer behind him. He watched the man walk back to the spot where he originally was before he made his way to Atlas to show him how to ‘get the right angle.’
Atlas felt… A bit betrayed by himself.
Why am I feeling like this?
Why is my own body betraying him?
Atlas closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He lets go of the cue stick, letting it roll onto the pool table.
He stood up straight and looked into the man. “What did you just do to me?”
The man went silent. The little smile he had faded away. “I… helped you..?” The man replied in a condescending way.
Of course, genius, you helped me out, but what the fuck was that?
Atlas thought to himself. He wanted to curse at this man, to let it all out on this guy who was making him feel all sorts of things that he has never felt in a long time.
But at the same time, good lord, this was all new to him. It was like rediscovering something from your past.
“Maybe a drink will calm your nerves.”
“…”
Atlas stayed silent, looking down and touching the spot where the man previously touched him. It was still a bit cool.
“Fuck…” Atlas would mutter out to himself. He took a few deep breaths. “Uhm...” Atlas closed his eyes to think. He wasn’t thinking straight at all—he was trying his best—and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck, okay…” He looked at the man. “Get me a vodka and a yakult.”
“Wow.” The man only smiled at him. “That’s…”
But to be honest, even Atlas didn’t know why the hell he ordered that instead of the gin tonic he was drinking earlier.
And he has never drank vodka before.
So… This might end disastrous.
“Do you want to play another game after this? Same conditions?”
“Sure, sure, whatever…” Atlas closed his eyes and leaned into one of the pool tables. “Just shut up… Please…” He said as a dull but weak ache appeared in his head.
He rubbed his temples as the man walked away. He opened his eyes, watching the man walk away. Atlas opened his eyes, and it occurred to him that not once does he hear the man’s footsteps.
Atlas leaned against one of the pool tables to get some support. His legs felt weak and his knees were trembling.
Atlas was still not over the fact that this guy “helped him.” Atlas touched his arm once again, the part where the man touched him. It wasn’t as cool as it was earlier, but Atlas swears that he can still feel the coolness of the man.
Atlas hears some footsteps and opens his eyes. He spots Gallagher and the man walking to the bartender’s counter. Atlas let out a groan as he rubbed his forehead.
Atlas had no idea as to why he was cold. It was almost like he was a ghost or a dead body. But he clearly wasn’t a ghost.
Atlas wondered if it had something to do with the guy’s ability that made him cold. Atlas closed his eyes and began box breathing to relax his nerves.
He breathed in, held it, breathed out, held it, and repeat. All in four seconds. This is what Atlas used to do when he felt really nervous or anxious about something.
He feels some of his thoughts clear away and his heart get steadier and steadier.
“Atlas.”
Atlas’ eyes jolted open, heart popping out of his chest, and his body jolting.
The first thing he saw was the man in front of him, so he instinctively took a few steps back. Again, he had no audible footsteps for Atlas to hear. It was like he was being really stealthy.
“Bloody hell.” The man handed him the martini glass. Atlas looked at the drink, which looked like yakult but not really.
“Thanks.” Atlas took it. The man simply nodded, and leaned against another table in front of Atlas, watching him carefully.
Atlas took a sip of it. Surprisingly… It tasted like yakult, with a bit of bitterness and that burning feeling down his throat.
‘Why the fuck did I order fucking vodka?’
Atlas asks himself, looking at the stronger drink. He looked at the drink, realizing his mistake. The vodka was masked by the yakult’s taste. But Atlas liked it. He looked at the drink for a second, before taking another sip.
“You haven’t tried vodka before, haven’t you?”
That question alarms Atlas. He looked at the man. “How do you know that?”
“Your reaction.”
“…”
Atlas goes silent and looks at the drink. He took a sip of the vodka yakult, letting the burning bitter liquid go down his throat.
“So do you want to go for another game?”
Atlas is about to be drunk as hell.
“Sure.”
But he accepts anyway. He blinked his eyes at the man, taking another sip. It burns down his throat again.
‘Should I just finish it in one go and call it a day?’
Atlas thought to himself, as he watched the man take the cue ball. So Atlas takes his cue stick and picked out a random ball from one of the pockets.
They were now going to do the lag.
The ball Atlas picked out was the 8 ball. He makes his way to the adjacent side of the table.
“On three.”
Atlas held his breath, his eyelids were now feeling heavy. “One, two, three.” They both struck their respective balls with the cue stick at the same time.
As their balls bounced back, Atlas’ 8 ball stopped right at the adjacent rail, while the man’s cue ball still had enough speed to bounce off the adjacent rail and become only an inch away from Atlas’ 8 ball and the adjacent railing.
Atlas won the lag this time.
That meant he was going to break the formation.
Atlas took a sigh of relief. “Are you still getting me a drink when I win?”
The man only shrugged at him. Atlas took this sign as a yes. Atlas walked over to one of the other pool tables—the one where he left his drink sitting—and took his vodka yakult martini. He downed it in one go, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Even after he gulped it all down, he still felt the burning sensation in his throat.
Atlas walked over to the adjacent side of the table and got into position. Across from him, the man was watching him carefully, eyes narrow. Atlas copies his expression, before putting his focus back on the cue ball.
Then he gets an idea.
Atlas moves the cue ball to the left side of the table, and angles himself just so he can hit the ball in front of the 8 ball.
He knew what he was doing, a trick that his peers used to do when they played.
He glances at the man once again. He can’t really read his expression, but he does not seem happy as he looks at the table.
Does he know?
Atlas struck the cue ball.
The balls break and spread out.
The 8 ball is pushed into one of the pockets.
Before the man could even realize what just happened, the game was already over.
Even after at least a year of not playing, he still has his skills.
“Oh.” The man realizes that the game is already over.
“Get me the same thing, please.”
Atlas would go on to win the next match. One might call it a miracle, but by the time he makes the last shot in, he could barely get himself to stand up straight. It was 3-0, the score exceeding Atlas’ expectations.
Atlas got two more vodka yakults but by then, he was already far beyond saving.
For Atlas, the rest of the night was only a blur.
…
Atlas wakes up in his bed… The blank ceiling greeted him hello, and so did the headache that suddenly hit him like a truck.
Atlas groaned and sat up.
His memory was hazy, but he remembers puking somewhere, stumbling around, and getting into a taxi with someone.
Remembering that he got in a taxi with someone made him alarmed. To wake up tucked in bed after getting into the taxi with someone… It was a big no-no to Atlas.
“Motherfucker…” Atlas breathed out in panic as he frantically scanned the bed, there was nobody around him. The sheets didn’t smell like the metallic smell that Atlas stuck to Atlas’ memory like glue.
He stumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror.
And lo and behold, there he was.
For some reason.
Atlas noticed that he was still in his work clothes. His blue button up crumpled with unbuttoned cuffs, and his red tie was loose. His button up was also slightly open, with the first three buttons unbuttoned.
Atlas leaned closer to the mirror. He looked at the sides of his neck and thankfully saw no marks.
He doesn’t know why, but he feels a bit disappointed.
Atlas pushed that feeling away as he opened the faucet and cupped his hands under the flowing water. The cold water fills up his hands, reminding him of that mysterious person and his cold hands.
…
Atlas wondered why that guy was sticking to his head like he had been super glued to his mind.
What the hell was so special about him?
Get out of my head, please…
Why are you making me feel like this?
His head throbbed, snapping him out of those thoughts. He realizes that the water was now overflowing for some time. He sinks his face down and throws the cold water in his cupped hands and into his face.
“God…” He sobbed out. He looked at himself in the mirror, watching his soaked and tired looking face, before he giggled at himself.
I look like I’ve been hit by a truck…
That was probably overexaggerated, but he shuts the faucet and walks out of the bathroom.
Maybe nothing happened that night.
Atlas walked back to the bed and took the glasses that he left behind in the nightstand. He picked it up and put it on. Everything is a bit clearer than before.
Atlas makes his way out of his bedroom and into the main space of his apartment. He walks to the kitchen and opens the cabinet with the medicine.
He takes the packet of Advil and takes a pill.
He hoped that this would at least ease the headache that he had. He takes a glass from a rack under the sink and fills it up with tap water.
He throws the pill into his mouth and chugs it down with water. He placed the glass on the kitchen island.
He doesn’t notice anything yet.
Atlas glanced at the clock above his fridge—it was 8 AM. It was a bit later than the time he’d usually wake up, which was around 5 or 6 AM.
Usually, Atlas doesn’t take sick leaves and so on. He doesn’t like missing a day of work, despite his nausea, fatigue, and headache. He had accumulated lots of leave days.
But today, he wasn’t feeling like going to work.
Something was drawing him back.
Maybe it was the hangover, but Atlas had gone to work in much worse states before, so he knew it wasn’t that.
Atlas spotted his messenger bag on the couch in his living room. He walked toward it, sat on the couch, and opened the messenger bag to take his phone.
He took his phone and opened it. He saw notifications and missed calls since, well… It would be odd that someone who consistently showed up to work early, even when sick, was suddenly absent.
He unlocked his phone and immediately called his best friend, Wolfgang.
The phone rang twice before the man would pick up.
“Atlas! Where the hell are you?”
“Yeah yeah,” Atlas sighed. “I’m taking the day off. I’m sick. Tell the others.”
“What? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Bye.”
“Wait, d-”
And with a tap of a button, Atlas hung up with a beep.
He threw his phone back into his bag and sat on the couch for a few seconds. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes.
He stayed like that for a minute or so, nearly dozing off to sleep. Atlas stood up, holding onto the sofa’s armrests to hold him up. He walked to the kitchen to get some more water. He looked at the glass and took it, however, as he looked again, he realizes something,
There was a sheet of paper placed on the kitchen island—under the glass that he placed down earlier—with his pen on top.
Atlas looked at it with interest.
This wasn’t here before.
Atlas stumbled around, clumsily pushing the glass aside, as he picked up the paper. He anticipated what it had to say, since he could see that there was something written on it, and as he looked at it, he confirmed that it was probably from the man.
It didn’t have his handwriting so it was safe to assume that.
”Thank you for playing with me. It is an experience to play with you.
But don’t expect me again.”
…
Atlas frowns. He stares at the note for a few seconds, before he lets out an exhale, crumples the note, and tosses it into the trash can.
Atlas took the glass and walked to the tap. He turned it on and filled the glass with the tap water.
He glanced around the apartment and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He turned the tap off and gulped the water in the glass in one go. He placed the glass back on the kitchen island.
He glances at the framed photos he had near the entrance.
Atlas realizes something as he walks toward it. Photos of him and his late boyfriend come into view.
That interaction with the bar…
He picked up one of the photos, one with his late boyfriend, and looked at it.
Atlas realizes that this was exactly how he and Mattia first talked to each other.
One’s blood was boiling with rage, while the other was cold, nonchalant, and almost teasing.
“…”
At this point, even his own mind betrayed him. Atlas feels betrayed by himself, but also a bit relieved.
… Does this mean that I was moving on?
That you were setting me free?
But I promised you that I’d stay…
His thumb brushes against his late boyfriend’s face, before shaking his thoughts away and gently placing the framed photo down, before he turns away and goes back to bed.
Atlas felt like he was being pulled apart by two things.
Maybe sleeping would make him feel better about this.
Atlas sat on the edge of the bed for a bit, thinking about all of this.
What exactly am I feeling?
Does he remind me of Mattia?
Why am I like this…
Atlas lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He doesn’t even bother doing his usual morning routine. He doesn’t even change or
This mystery man did something so bad to him to the point that even doing something as his usual routine, he cannot do. Even showing up to work, he cannot do either.
His eyelids felt heavy as he closed his eyes. Atlas just hoped that he’d fall asleep right now.
That was all he wished for.
But at least going to the bar made him forget about his terrible day at work yesterday. But it introduced a far deeper problem for Atlas.
He doesn’t know what he got himself into.
He doesn’t know who the guy is.
He doesn’t even know his name.
All he knows is that, the guy sticks to his mind like glue.