I was late again. Second week in a row, actually. And today had been especially hard. It was one of those days where the bed felt magnetic, holding me down no matter how hard I tried to get up.
I blamed the weather...
Outside, the air was stifling, the clouds seemed to press down on my head, and cold rain poured nonstop, doing nothing to help my punctuality.
But despite all of that, work was still work, so I reluctantly made my way through the neighborhood.
The old center used to shine with theaters, boutiques, and fancy cars. Now, it was chipped paint, sagging bricks, and shops with flickering signs. That was where our bar was. Not in the glass-bright business district with its bankers, neon signs, and carefully kept parks, but in the part of town that still remembered the old days.
As soon as I stepped behind the bar, I exhaled. It was almost ridiculous how fast the calm set in. That counter was my boundary line, chaos on one side, me on the other. I wiped water from my face, pulled on my fox mask, tied it behind my head, and finally felt my heartbeat slow to its normal rhythm. This was my place. Here, I knew who I was supposed to be: confident and silent, just someone who listened and made the night easier for our customers.
The room was already packed. Humans in cheap shirts. Beastkin with tails and sharpened teeth and that barely-hidden show-off energy. And some nervous hybrids with bright eyes, clearly wanting to remain unnoticed.
Voices mixed into a single wave of noise, but I caught some pieces of what they were saying:
"Did you see that news? They beat up the hybrid again—"
"It's politics—"
"That rabbit kid from uptown almost got his ear sliced yesterday—"
With every clink of glass, tension thickened. Around me, I could hear fragments of conversations, a hybrid kid being beaten, and cops shrugging it off. Those were pieces of a story that no one wanted to discuss too loudly, but everyone kept circling back to.
And the way people acted tonight… it was off.
Beastkin kept their laughter lower, watching humans from the corner of their eyes. Humans, in turn, held this thin, cold distance, as if they weren't sure how close was too close. And hybrids just… stayed quiet and tried to pretend that none of it mattered.
But sometimes I think people don't realize how loud pretending can be.
Kazuo towered beside me in his long brown apron that nearly brushed his bright green sneakers. He was tall, sharp-shouldered, and built like someone who spends every day in the gym pushing himself to the limit. His gray-furred ears twitched every time someone entered, catching sounds I couldn't hear.
For a wolf, he always felt strangely nice, closer to a big Labrador than a predator. There was something reliable about the way he carried himself, as an older brother you could lean on and trust.
"Good evening, good evening!" he sang. "Where are the smiles? This is a bar, not a funeral!"
Someone laughed. Someone else called him crazy. Kazuo just grinned wider. I'd known him long enough to recognize the crazy part might actually be real. Still, I never knew if all that positivity was a true reflection of him or just a mask he wore. Can someone genuinely hold that much sunshine inside, or does he just pretend?
But I've never asked.
I dried glasses, lined them up, stacked coasters, and let the rhythm take over. The rain steamed off shoulders and coats, filling the room with wet wool, beer, and cheap perfume.
Three customers had come and gone before I finally noticed him.
Far end of the counter, almost hidden between a pillar and the shadows, a man in a suit. This is not an average suit that you see here. This wasn't cheap fabric or a secondhand job. This fit sat on him as if it had been tailored just for him. His cheek was pressed to his folded arms on the counter, head tilted sideways, eyes closed.
He wasn't drunk.
Just… asleep.
But why here?
We get all kinds here, sure. But not like that. Never like that.
It was the strangest sight in the world: perfection finding peace in this cheap and noisy bar. Yet there he was, breathing softly as if the chaos outside didn't exist.
His hair was smooth and neat, shorter on the sides and longer on top. Pale skin and nice jawline. I didn't even realize I was staring until someone bashed a hand down near my elbow.
"Yo! Luka! Give me something strong. Shit day," bellowed Anton, one of our regulars. He was the type of person I found too noisy.
I grabbed a tap handle automatically and filled a glass as he leaned sideways toward the sleeping man.
"Hey, suit-boy, wake up! Don't waste a night!"
Before his finger even made contact, my hand shot across the bar, blocking him. "Let him sleep," I said. "Go bother someone else."
Anton snorted. "You're no damn fun." He took his drink and yelled at two girls across the room before disappearing into the crush of bodies.
I exhaled again. I couldn't help glancing back at the stranger. He still wasn't moving. He breathed deeply and calmly, and radiated something magnetic that screamed of money. Absolutely 100% not from this neighborhood. Most people of his kind never even looked at the old center, let alone fell asleep in our bar.
I didn't dare wake him, but the stupid, restless curiosity pulsed inside my fingertips. I was overwhelmed with questions.
What kind of person could pass out in a place like this?
How did he even end up in our neighborhood?
What does he dream about?
The next thirty minutes passed with me pretending that everything was fine, that nothing was happening at all. The rest of the bar didn't care. I kept cleaning, mixing drinks, sliding glasses across the counter, half-listening to whatever they were talking about.
I made sure to stay polite enough to make them comfortable placing their orders, and let them ramble about their stories. But never enough to invite questions. Never enough to make them want to know me or dig any deeper.
"Luka, darling, your hands are too pretty to frown at," one drunk cat-girl purred at me as I handed her a cocktail.
I nodded once and didn't even bother answering. She pouted and went back to her friends.
I moved more slowly than usual. I told myself my muscles were just reacting to the weather, though the truth is, I couldn't focus, and kept glancing at the guy in the corner, checking he was still there. Every time he shifted in sleep, I felt my breath catch, feeling like a complete idiot. Аt some point, I realized I was wiping the same part of the counter over and over.
Kazuo came up beside me and nudged me lightly with his elbow. "Something on your mind?"
"Nothing," I said a little too quickly.
"Huh. Interesting," he muttered. "But I thought you were having some deep, life-changing thoughts about the miracle currently passed out on that corner of the bar."
I shot a glance toward the man in the suit. "Nope. Why would I?"
"Well, if you're that curious, you could always wake him up and ask what he's doing here."
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said. "If he's sleeping, let him sleep."
"Yeah, yeah," Kazuo said. "Maybe he'll just wake up on his own and say, 'Hi.'"
He grinned and gave me a wink.
"Okay, I—"
Before I could finish, someone called for him, and Kazuo turned away, already heading toward the noise, leaving me alone with the thought again.
Hours passed. The bar thinned. Rain finally stopped outside, leaving glossy puddles reflecting dying street lamps.
Eventually, the supply truck arrived. Kazuo shoved a box into my arms. "Go and be sure to check that they have delivered everything according to the order."
I muttered something under my breath and headed to the back door. The delivery guys were already there, looking around as they weren't sure if the right place.
I signed their sheet while they craned their necks, trying to peek past me.
"So, this is the place with hybrids?"
"Hey, if one shows up, think we could get a look?"
They laughed, acting as if they said nothing wrong, just some little jokes tossed out to test how far they could push.
I hauled the crates, ignored the comments, gave them a neutral enough answer to keep things moving, and slipped back inside before they could ask for anything else.
When I finally made my way back behind the bar, my eyes went straight to the spot where he had been sitting.
Empty…
Kazuo came up beside me, sighed, and followed my gaze. Then he looked at me. "You know," he said, "I believe in fate. If he's meant to come back, he will. And then we'll find out what exactly he forgot in our bar." He shrugged lightly. "And if not, we'll just call it a strange little incident. It is a bar, after all. All kinds of weirdos walk in here."
I hummed in response and went back to work.
The last hour flew by in preparation for closing time. Kazuo sang as he stacked chairs, while I wiped spilled beer near the jukebox with a rag.
"Closing," Kazuo called, clapping his hands.
People drifted out into the night. I cleaned up what remained, said goodbye to Kazuo, and stepped outside.
As the door closed behind me, cold air wrapped around me, carrying the damp smell left after the rain. The warm city lights reflected in the wet asphalt, shimmering softly, and somehow that sight made everything feel calmer.
I took a deep breath.
The silhouette of that man kept replaying in my mind.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything… It definitely didn't mean anything.
And yet, for some reason, I couldn't quite let it go.