The low hum of intellectual conversation and the clinking of glasses always soothed Shu. The 'Inkwell' bar wasn't just a place to drink; it was a sanctuary. Nestled near the university, it catered to professors, researchers, and the generally intellectually curious. Shu had discovered it three years ago and it had become her refuge, a place where she could breathe, away from the sometimes-suffocating atmosphere of home. Ri and Ash, her colleagues from Sociology, had joined her here a few times, charmed by its understated elegance and the stimulating conversations that filled the air.
Tonight, however, the Inkwell's usual balm was struggling to take effect. Shu nursed a glass of water, the ice barely tinkling against the heavy crystal, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. Roxy's words still stung, sharp and precise, aimed to wound. "You always think you know best," Roxy had spat, the teenage venom laced with a hurt Shu couldn't quite decipher, "always lecturing, always trying to control! It's exhausting!"
Exhausting. That word echoed in Shu's head. Was she really so… suffocating? She'd only been trying to guide Roxy, to help her navigate the treacherous waters of adolescence. But lately, every attempt at connection seemed to backfire, ending in raised voices and slammed doors.
Lost in her turbulent thoughts, Shu was startled by a voice. "Miss Shu?"
She looked up to see Mr. Joe, his kind face etched with concern. Mr. Joe, the Head of the Economics Department, a brilliant but unassuming man. He was a regular at the Inkwell, often lost in his own world of complex models and theories, yet always politely acknowledging Shu when their paths crossed. He seemed genuinely worried now.
He gestured to the empty seat beside her. "Mind if I join you? You look…troubled."
Shu managed a weak smile. "Mr. Joe, hello. Just… a bit of a day."
Mr. Joe settled in, his gaze still gentle. "Did something happen at home? Is Roxy alright?"
The mention of Roxy was like a pinprick to a raw nerve. Shu's resolve crumbled. She signalled the bartender and ordered a shot of tequila. It wasn't her usual drink, but tonight called for something stronger, something to burn away the icy grip of Roxy's words.
The shot arrived in a small, elegant glass. Shu picked it up, the cool glass a brief comfort against her trembling fingers. She downed it in one swift gulp, the fiery liquid momentarily silencing the turmoil in her head.
"You know, Mr. Joe," she said, her voice a little rougher than intended, "the more you do for people in this world, the more they misunderstand you. Remember my words for the rest of your life." The tequila was already loosening her tongue, releasing a bitterness she usually kept locked away.
She immediately regretted the dramatic statement. Trying to steer the conversation away from her personal woes, she forced a lighter tone. "Anyway, enough about my department of domestic affairs. How's your research going? Still wrestling with those elusive economic models?"
The conversation shifted. Shu spoke about her current sociology research, delving into societal structures and the complexities of human interaction, a stark irony given her current struggles with her own daughter. Mr. Joe, in turn, passionately described his economic models, his eyes lighting up as he spoke about intricate algorithms and global trends. He was clearly in his element, and Shu found a small measure of solace in the intellectual exchange, the bar's atmosphere finally beginning to work its magic.
Another shot of tequila followed, and then perhaps another. The edges of Shu's worries started to blur, replaced by a hazy warmth. She laughed a little too loudly at one of Mr. Joe's jokes, the tension easing from her shoulders.
It was then that Mr. Joe, emboldened by the drinks and the comfortable conversation, placed a hand on Shu's arm. "Let me see you home, Miss Shu," he said, his voice softer now, almost… intimate. His fingers lightly traced her forearm.
Before Shu could even process the shift in Mr. Joe's demeanour, a shadow fell over them. A hand, strong and sure, wrapped around Shu's waist, lifting her effortlessly from her stool. She gasped, turning to see Raven's face, a stark, angular sculpture in the dimmed light of the bar. His eyes, usually warm pools of amber, were now chips of ice.
Raven held her cradled against his chest, as if she were weightless, his movements swift and decisive. Mr. Joe stared up at them, completely bewildered, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air where Shu's arm had been.
"Who are you?" Mr. Joe stammered, his voice losing its earlier confidence. "And why are you holding Miss Shu like this?" A flicker of indignation ignited in his eyes, the protective instinct for a colleague, or perhaps something more, kicking in. "Put her down, you imposter! I will take Miss Shu home."
Raven's gaze, sharp and predatory, fixed on Mr. Joe. The air in the small space seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. The casual, almost sleepy air of the Inkwell bar was suddenly shattered. An old, primal aura emanated from Raven, a silent warning.
"I am her husband," Raven stated, his voice low, each word a cold hammer blow. "Do you have a problem with that?" The question wasn't really a question. It was a challenge.
Mr. Joe's face paled. "Her… husband?" he repeated, utterly stunned. "But… I've known Miss Shu for years, and I've never heard… You put her down. I don't believe you."
Raven simply ignored him. He tightened his hold on Shu, his gaze never leaving Mr. Joe's. And then, silently, purposefully, he turned and walked away, carrying Shu as if she were the most precious thing in the world, leaving Mr. Joe gaping after him. He moved with a predator's grace, completely unfazed by Mr. Joe's protests, as if the older man was nothing more than a buzzing insect.
Mr. Joe, still reeling from the shock, his face a mixture of confusion and outrage, found himself instinctively following Raven. He couldn't just let this stranger whisk Shu away. He had to… to do something.
But as he hurried after Raven, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the entrance of the bar. It was Roxy.
Mr. Joe stopped short, relief washing over him. "Roxy! Thank goodness! That man… that strange man is taking your mother! We have to stop him, come on!" Mr. Joe waved Roxy towards the departing figure of Raven.
Roxy, however, didn't seem alarmed. She looked at Mr. Joe with a strange mixture of teenage embarrassment and something else… almost amusement.
"Uncle Joe," she said, her voice laced with a weary sigh that sounded far too adult for her age, "you don't have to do anything. My parents have taken me out for dinner, so I'm going too."
Mr. Joe blinked, utterly lost. "Your… parents?"
Then, as if on cue, Raven turned his head slightly, just enough for Roxy to see his profile. And Roxy, without hesitation, called out, "Papa! Wait for me!"
The word "Papa" hung in the air, clear and undeniable, echoing in the sudden silence that had fallen around Mr. Joe. He stared at Roxy, then at Raven's retreating back, his mind struggling to process the impossible. Papa? The strong, silent man who had swept Shu away, claiming to be her husband… was Roxy's father?
He watched, dumbfounded, as Roxy hurried after Raven, her earlier teenage angst completely forgotten, a familiar, almost fond, exasperation in her step. He saw her reach Raven and Shu, Raven shifting Shu slightly so Roxy could walk beside him, Roxy slipping her hand into Raven's free hand, and the three of them disappearing into the night, a family unit leaving him standing alone, a bewildered and utterly redundant observer. Mr. Joe remained frozen, the humid night air suddenly feeling colder, the sophisticated ambiance of the Inkwell now mocking his earlier assumptions. He was left with nothing but the lingering taste of confusion and the faint, echoing sound of a teenage girl's casual, yet definitive, call of "Papa."
Raven's shoulders ached, and his patience was wearing thin, fraying at the edges like an old, worn-out coat. Shu was dead weight, limbs flopping with a drunken looseness that made her almost impossible to manage. Every few blocks, she'd stumble, then gag, and Raven would brace himself for another torrent. The city sidewalks became a grim obstacle course of avoiding puddles of Shu's regurgitated dinner. The aroma was…unforgettable, to say the least. He hauled her onward, the apartment building looming like a beacon of salvation in the hazy night.