Sunlight.
Actual sunlight.
It felt strange, almost ridiculous, how the absence of rain and a few rays of sunlight could change the mood of everything around me. Even the old, crumbling buildings, with their peeling paint and chunks of plaster threatening to fall onto passersby, suddenly looked cozy under that golden light.
I tugged my hoodie straight, made sure my mask was clean, and arrived at the bar nearly forty minutes earlier than my shift.
Not because Kazuo had nagged me (he hadn't, the man was too kind), and not because I had suddenly decided to be the world's best employee.
I did it because of him.
Ever since I first saw that stranger asleep at our bar, I kept looking for him. Not obviously, I wasn't that pathetic, but I found myself casually glancing at the spot where he had been sitting before.
Just checking.
You know, just in case.
And he did come back. The next time, I found him the same way, still asleep. I hadn't seen him come in, hadn't noticed when he curled in on himself, crossing arms over his chest. I had only noticed him once he was already there.
Something very close to relief flickered inside me.
When I saw him the third time, water was dripping from his coat, and he was asleep.
Again…
Then he was gone without a sound. I didn't even notice when he left.
Just by being here, he already stood out too much, and maybe because of that, my eyes wouldn't leave him. Someone of his kind was supposed to sit in a glass office high above the city, signing important contracts with a serious expression, contracts that made millions or ruined thousands of lives.
So now, with the sun finally cracking through, I slipped behind the bar early, pretending it was a coincidence. Maybe that day I would catch him awake. Maybe I would hear his voice. Maybe—
He wasn't there.
Of course, he wasn't. Why would he be?
I busied myself to stop my chest from tightening. Wiped some glasses and set out the lemon slices that Kazuo had cut earlier. I told myself I wasn't disappointed. The mask, tight against my skin, helped hide the sadness that still kept breaking through.
Customers filtered in slowly at first. One human couple, a group of laughing beastkin in plaid shirts, a hybrid girl with bright red eyes ordering a strawberry daiquiri. Each time the bell over the door rang, I looked up. Each time it wasn't him, I told myself to stop expecting, yet still glanced again anyway.
Around six, the bell rang again. It was Kane, one of Kazuo's bar-buddies, who stomped in holding a bunch of crumpled paper.
"Agh, it's you," I muttered.
He snorted, dumping the wads on the counter. Kazuo followed him a second later, brushing dust from his long apron.
"Again?" I asked, nodding at the pile.
"Yeah," Kazuo huffed. "This bunch of cowards plastered the street with those damn things again. 'Keep our bloodlines clean', 'No more hybrid pests', you know the usual bullshit." He scraped a hand through his hair. "If they hate them that much, fine, but why waste so much money on printing? I just collect them before customers see, and think we agree with this nonsense."
His voice stayed light, though his eyes burned with anger. I nodded once and tossed the flyers straight into the trash can under the counter.
"Next time, leave them in the gutter where they belong," I muttered.
He gave me a crooked smile. "If I didn't clean up well, everyone would have to see it. Nothing good would come of it."
I just nodded, once again grateful that my mask hid my concern.
Those flyers… I had really hoped they wouldn't reach our neighborhood. But no, it seemed they had made it here too.
More customers. More laughter. More noise. For a while, I kept glancing at the doorbell like an idiot, reacting to every chime of the opening door. After a few hours, I finally gave up and leaned into the rhythm of work.
I wiped down a countertop when someone slid practically silently onto a stool. I didn't bother looking up, not until a voice, deep and calm, brushed my senses.
"Mind if I sit here?"
My breath caught in the most embarrassing way.
I didn't recognize the voice at all, yet it sank straight into me, making my ribs tighten before my brain caught up to what he'd said.
I lifted my head, and there he was.
Not half-dead, not folded over his own arms, not disappear before I got a chance to blink, he was awake. He looked at me with dark amber eyes, shining like polished stone, catching my reflection. His suit today was navy and still frighteningly perfect.
"Y-yes," I managed. My throat was drier than a second ago. "Of course."
He studied me for a moment as if doing some kind of check, and nodded, casually folding his arms on the bar top.
"What will you be drinking?" I asked, relieved my voice sounded mostly normal even though my heart was somewhere in my ears.
"That depended entirely," he replied lazily, "on whether you have anything decent. What sort of whisky do you keep?"
When he spoke, there was something unusual about it. His speech sounded elegant, careful, and almost old-fashioned polite, as though he had stepped into our bar from a completely different time. Because of that, he sounded strange. Not wrong, just… out of place. Nothing similar to the people who usually lived around here.
"We… don't carry proper whisky," I admitted after a beat. "Craft beers, cocktails. That sort of thing."
"I see." His smile barely touched one corner of his mouth. "Then… surprise me."
Something about that flipped a switch inside me.
I turned away and got to work. I went for the bright bottles of grenadine, bitters, gin, and citrus, then started mixing something colorful, not even sure why I was doing it that way except… I had the sense he would enjoy it.
When I slid the glass toward him, he took a slow sip. It seemed he was assessing whether it was worth his time.
"Not bad," he said eventually, folding his arms lightly across his chest. His gaze drifted toward my mask.
"Is it a bar requirement," he asked with a seemingly uninterested voice, "or a personal preference?"
"The mask?"
He nodded.
"It's part of the bar's… image," I said carefully. "Most of us wear them."
"Mm. Interesting." His eyes narrowed in thought. "I think I'd like to see you without it someday."
A sudden jolt went through me so fast I had to grip the edge of the bar.
Before, no one cared how I looked without my mask and didn't even joke about it. The mask was my protection, my second skin. Without it, I would be... the real me. And that always scared me more than anything else.
For a moment, I wanted to take it off right there, just to see how his expression might change when he looked at my actual face.
I didn't.
Instead, I managed a sort of shrug. "Perhaps if you came often enough… you'd get lucky."
He hummed at that, and then his phone lit up on the counter. A message. Whatever he saw made his mouth flatten.
He lifted the glass, drained the remaining alcohol in one smooth motion, and stood.
"That will be all for tonight," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "Seems I'm needed. I'll see you next time."
Next time…
Then he turned and walked out, coat swirling behind him. The bell jingled as the door shut.
I stayed frozen for a few seconds, fingers curled so tight around the bar they turned white.
My legs felt shaky. It was so stupid… I hadn't run a marathon. I had just talked to someone. But my heart was still pounding around inside my chest, threatening to tear itself free.
I forced myself to move. Cleaned the glass, wiped the bar, trying to act normal. Kazuo winked at me in passing. He must have noticed our awkward, painfully brief conversation. Thankfully, didn't comment.
The next two hours blurred in a haze of movement and noise. Drinks went out. Coins clattered in the till. Someone laughed too loudly. A hybrid couple argued in whispers until one stormed out.
I kept working, yet my mind stayed wrapped around him, around his voice, his eyes, and the way the words see you next time kept echoing in my skull.
Why had he wanted to see me without the mask?
Why had that hit me so deeply?
I had always appreciated that distance. It let me exist without actually being seen. Yet suddenly I felt exposed, even though nothing had changed.
By closing, long after the sun had gone and the old street lamps flickered with exhaustion, I finally let myself lean against the counter. I replayed our conversation over and over in my head, searching for a hidden meaning in his words that was, of course, not there.
God, what was wrong with me?
Kazuo sent me home with a pat on the back, giving me a bag of leftover cupcakes ("for breakfast, don't argue"). I stepped into the cool evening air and started toward my narrow alley with a weird feeling in my chest.
It was something confusing, hovering somewhere between fear and excitement… something complicated.
Something I just can't describe in words.
His voice…
It had made my skin shiver. No one's voice had ever done that, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
But part of me already wanted to hear it again.