060

The bar always felt colder when it was nearly empty.

Maybe it was the old wood counters, lacquered so many times they no longer reflected light properly.

Or the way the dusty glasses caught the amber glow of the overhead fixtures and scattered it like tired stars.

I took a quiet breath, fingers tapping the side of my glass. Tomato juice.

The bartender had given me a nod when I ordered it — most customers at Lupin chose stronger poisons. But I never cared for the bite of alcohol.

Tonight, I didn’t need more ways to lose control.

Outside, rain clung to the windows, tracing thin lines like veins. Each droplet tapping the glass reminded me of morse code — urgent, insistent.

I was waiting for them — Dazai-kun and Odasaku-san.

They'd said they might come by after they finished. "Might" being the operative word.

I sighed, pulling the tomato juice closer, the smell metallic and sharp.

The warmth of my cigarette pack weighed heavy in my pocket, but I didn't light one yet. I wanted to stay alert.

That’s when I felt it.

A shift in the air — subtle but immediate. Like stepping into a room that’s been heated slightly too long, the scent of another presence pressing close.

I didn’t need to turn to know.

A soft chuckle, low and smooth, like velvet cut with a razor.

"Sakaguchi-san~"

I kept my hand steady around the glass.

"You're early tonight," he continued.

"Don’t do that," I said, voice even, refusing to look.

"Do what?"

"Appear like a ghost," I muttered. "You have an entrance like a stray cat breaking into a kitchen."

"How rude," he said, feigning a pout I could almost hear.

I could sense him leaning closer, his breath grazing the shell of my ear. "A cat? Not even a wolf?"

I exhaled. Slowly.

"You're not a wolf. Wolves are honest."

"Mm. Honest? How boring," he purred. I heard the slide of fabric—his coat brushing the bar stool next to mine as he settled in far too close.

I still didn’t look at him. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

He laughed under his breath. I felt the vibration before I heard it properly.

"You’re drinking tomato juice again," he observed.

"I like it."

"Like it?" His fingers tapped the counter beside my hand. "Or do you pretend to like it to seem different? Unassuming? Safe?"

I finally turned my head, meeting his eyes.

They glowed faintly under the bar’s amber light — dark, bottomless, like a pond that had forgotten it was supposed to reflect stars.

"You're overthinking," I said.

"And you're underfeeling," he retorted, lips curling into something between a smile and a threat.

"Stop—" I started.

But he slid closer.

One gloved hand tilted my chin gently, forcing me to face him fully.

His touch was cold despite the gloves, or maybe that was just my skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

"You look tired, Sakaguchi-san," he murmured. "Has it been that difficult, carrying so many secrets in that little head of yours?"

I pulled back slightly, but he moved with me, closing the gap like water filling a crack.

"This isn’t a coincidence," I accused. "You followed me."

"Of course I did," he said brightly. "You think I would just happen to walk into this dingy old bar and find you drinking your sad little tomato juice by accident? Don’t insult me."

My jaw clenched. I looked away, toward the empty seat where Dazai or Odasaku might have sat.

"They're late," he whispered, as though reading my mind. "Or maybe... they’re not coming at all tonight. Which leaves you... alone. With me."

His fingers drummed lightly on the bar, each tap echoing like a gunshot in my ribs.

I swallowed, trying to regain control.

"You’re insufferable," I hissed.

"I know," he said, delighted. "But I’m also adorable, aren’t I?"

"Far from it."

"Liar," he whispered.

I felt his breath against my jaw now, impossibly close.

My hands curled into fists on my lap, nails biting into my palms.

He tilted his head, examining me like a cat toying with a mouse that still thought it could run.

"You know," he continued, voice dipping lower, "you really haven’t changed much since the last time. Still so proper, so rigid. So easy to read... and yet so hard to catch fully."

My heartbeat thudded in my ears.

"Stop it," I said again, softer this time.

"Why?" he asked, leaning forward until our foreheads almost touched.

His eyes bored into mine, searching. "Because you're scared someone might see? Or because you're scared you might actually enjoy this attention?"

I felt heat crawl up my neck.

He laughed quietly — almost kindly, if it weren’t so cruel.

"Still taste like lies, Sakaguchi-san?" he murmured, voice almost gentle now.

His gloved hand slid down to my collarbone, pressing lightly as though testing for a pulse.

I jerked back, nearly spilling the glass.

"L/N-kun—!"

"Ah, there it is," he cooed, eyes lighting up. "That expression. Flushed, righteous, almost offended... Do you know how rare that is in this dreary city?"

I grit my teeth, adjusting my glasses with trembling fingers.

"You’re shameless," I said, voice tight.

He tilted his head, resting his cheek against his hand as if settling in for a performance.

"Perhaps," he mused. "But you never really told me to stop properly. You keep inviting me, one small twitch at a time. Your fingers curl. Your pupils dilate. Your breath stutters. You pretend to be disgusted, but you lean just enough to stay within reach."

"I— I do not—"

"Ah, you’ll argue semantics now," he cut in with a bright laugh. "Adorable. Like a stray dog trying to bark away the moon."

I felt something twist in my gut.

I hated that he was right.

I hated that he knew he was right.

His eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, and in that fleeting shift I almost saw... something else.

Something unguarded.

But before I could process it, he leaned back, stretching leisurely as though nothing had happened at all.

He looked at my glass, then at me.

"You should try something stronger next time," he said lightly. "Tomato juice won't save you from me."

I exhaled, the tension breaking for a moment like a snapped string.

"And you should try not to be arrested one day," I shot back, my voice finding a steadier ground.

"Arrested? By whom?" He grinned. "No one in this city wants to open that particular pandora’s box."

I pressed my palm to my face, trying to gather my breath.

"Leave," I finally said, muffled.

"Not yet."

He leaned forward again, almost touching, but stopped a hairsbreadth away. His breath ghosted over my lips.

"You’re fun when you’re cornered," he said softly. "I might visit more often. See how far you can bend before you finally break."

My mind screamed to push him away.

My body froze.

Then—

He stood up abruptly, coat whispering against the barstool.

"Ah—" he glanced toward the door, tone playful again. "I forgot I have important business at this moment. I guess I’ll leave you to your precious tomato juice, Sakaguchi-san."

I forced myself to look up. His expression was unreadable now.

A gloved hand flicked in a mock salute, his dark eyes glinting under the low light.

"Until next time," he sang, walking away with a smile I know full well is anything but genuine.

I remained frozen.

The tomato juice sat untouched in front of me, the surface trembling from where my hand had nearly knocked it over.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

My pulse thrummed through my entire body, echoing in my fingers and throat.

I hated him.

I hated that I didn’t hate him enough.

I reached for my glass again, lifting it to my lips, and found that my hand shook faintly as I drank.

Tomato juice had never tasted so bitter.

But unknowingly of me in the past, I would stop drinking tomato juice entirely because of that man.