Over the next few days, everything seemed the same.
The number of customers didn't drop. Alcohol was selling as well as before. And Kazuo's pancake obsession made a full return.
Yet something had shifted, and the bar felt quieter.
Laughter sounded more muted. Conversations had become more guarded, voices lowering as if people were afraid of being overheard. The hybrids chose the more hidden tables and gravitated toward darker corners.
But who knows, maybe I was imagining it.
As for Kazuo and me… What had happened a few days ago still pressed down on both of us.
On top of everything else, I hadn't seen Ed.
The first few days, I told myself it didn't matter. That even if he never came back, it wouldn't change anything.
I tried to stay busy. There was always something to scrub, to wash, to fix.
However, as time passed, it became increasingly difficult to pretend everything was fine.
No matter what I was doing, I couldn't fully focus on it. My mind kept drifting, stuck in this constant anxiety. There wasn't a single moment when I was truly okay.
I went on messing up over the little things. Put a crate in the wrong corner of the storage room. Forgot to sign the delivery papers. Even mixed alcohol into a nonalcoholic drink at one point.
Yeah, none of it was unfixable. But it was still frustrating.
And each time, Kazuo shot me those worried looks when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
"Yeah," I muttered to myself at one point, rubbing my face. "Inventory definitely isn't happening today."
My brain wasn't ready for it, because today it was worse than the other days. Probably the worst so far.
I stood behind the bar with my mask on, polishing a glass over and over until it squeaked faintly under the cloth. My body stayed where it was supposed to be, but my mind didn't.
The bell above the door rang, and I flinched. Someone sat down at the bar, and my shoulders tensed. A voice asked me a question, and I shuddered. Every sound pulled at me, every movement made my pulse jump.
Every time, I thought it was him.
And every time, it wasn't.
Yeah. There was no point denying it anymore. He wasn't just some guy. He was the one who'd crawled into my head, grabbed onto something in there, and refused to leave.
Physically, he wasn't here. But the thoughts tied to him never really left me alone. That much was undeniable.
And this feeling… it demanded a definition.
But if I gave it a name, it would become real. Real meant responsibility. It meant I wouldn't get to hide behind all this uncertainty anymore.
If that happened, then what?
He was still a customer who came when he wanted to, and didn't when he didn't. Days could pass. Weeks, even. And he would be fine despite my absence.
If I gave it a name, I'd have to do something about it. Decide something.
So, what should I do then?
Take steps toward someone who could disappear without a word? Toward someone whose life would go on perfectly well whether I was in it or not?
That sounded ridiculous.
I shook my head, trying to shake those thoughts off, and glanced around the bar, looking for something to distract myself with.
Across from me, Kazuo was sorting bottles, his movements slower than usual.
No matter how hard we tried to lift each other's spirits, no matter how much we kept each other busy with anything and everything we could think of, the weight of what had happened never really left us.
Kazuo grew more subdued. I grew more lost in my own head. We worked and ran the bar, but something dull and heavy lingered beneath it all.
I wished all of this would turn out to be nothing more than a bad dream. But it wasn't. It was our reality.
I let out a breath and forced myself to get back to work. There were still plenty of customers, more drinks to mix and hand out.
The hours slipped by, and before I knew it, we were getting close to closing.
"Trash run?" Kazuo asked, nodding toward the corner. A couple of heavy bags were waiting by the door.
"Got it," I said, grateful for the task.
I gathered the bags, hefting one in each hand. The plastic strained under the weight, slick against my fingers. The back door groaned when I pushed it open, letting in the cool night air.
The alley was dark and quiet. The only light came from the bulb hanging above the back door of the bar, flickering faintly, barely doing its job. I walked toward the dumpster, shifting the heavy trash bags in my arms as they threatened to slip from my grip.
I was about to—
A law voice stopped me cold.
"Always catching you in new situations, bartender."
I froze.
I knew that voice.
My hands tightened around the bags as I held my breath and slowly turned toward the sound.
The alley swallowed the man whole, but his silhouette was unmistakable.
It was him.