Loyalty
By Dan'yu
He remembered reading-somewhere, someplace he couldn't quite pinpoint- about an old style of tavern called a hell, normally noted as places of hang out for the dirty and the riffraff. Upon looking at his surroundings, he decided such a description well-described the place his feet had carried him to.
Run-down, dimly lit, the bar was not a place he would frequent on a normal occasion, but when the moment he had walked out the door, his first and foremost priority had been to put as much distance between himself and his apartment as humanly possible. So here he found himself, looking through the fog of hazy smoke to try and spot a free stool at the bar.
The drinks were a familiar feeling, going down smooth but burning, the amber liquid translucent in the pallid glow of the neon lights on the wall, the clink of ice against the glass a sign for him to raise his finger to the bartender for another round. His body felt heavier, languid, and a hazy feeling clouded his perception. Still, he drank.
His nostrils filling with the sickly sweet scent of a heavy floral perfume was his first warning a split second before he felt the sudden proximity of an individual, suddenly hanging off his arm and pressing against his side gave definition to a clearly female body. He lazily opened one eye to investigate.
Around his age, he supposed, as much as he could tell beneath the makeup, reasonably pretty. She smiled at him, and he was sure it would be a very nice smile if not so leering and suggestive.
"Hey, handsome," she cooed, her voice low and sultry, "Buy me a drink."
He was silent for a moment, and then nonchalantly but gently pulled his arm back, downing what remained of his drink in a single gulp. The alcohol was fiery all the way down, and his stomach lurged, but he was steady as he rose to his feet and shrugged into his leather coat.
"Sorry," he said smoothly as he threw a few wrinkled yen on the rough surface of the bar, "Not interested."
The unknown woman stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged, not looking the least bit offended as she sauntered away to find her next victim. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowing with disconcertion as he sighed and stepped out the back door out onto the streets.
A rush of the frigid autumn air hit him and he drew the coat tighter around himself, squinting against the sudden glare of a streetlamp as he tried to vain to spot a familiar landmark or make sense of his memories of walking there, muddled and dimmed by the rage that had taken hold of him after he stormed out of the loft he shared with Rin.
He huffed, the rushing expanse of released breath creating a white, wispy cloud in the air that quickly dissipated into the cold. He felt oddly numb, absently reaching up to his left ring finger, finding it bare as usual.
And as usual, the absence of the golden band he wanted so badly to be there was a defined stab to his heart, and his utter bewilderment at Rin's aversion to making that final commitment with him. Even after the breaking of the Sohma curse, even after five years of dating, three years of living together, something stubborn or fearful or hesitant inside of her still rejected the idea of marrying him.
Arguments over the issue came more and more frequently, and that night's tiff had been an explosive one, driving him out of their apartment to seek refuge at the bar and drink away his sorrows. He had never been much of a drinker, but he found himself looking for anything and everything that could numb away the pain caused by that beautiful girl who twisted and turned his heart every which way.
Finding he could barely make out the name on a nearby street sign, he kept walking as he dug out the cell phone from his pocket, calling the first number on the speed dial. Within a few rings, she picked up.
"Haru?" The voice was achingly familiar.
"Yeah."
"Are you alright? You lose your way too easy, I'm worried."
"Hai…I'm…" he trailed off, making a face she could not see.
"…are you at least near a street sign…?"
He stopped as he came to a four-way stop, and as he gave her the names of the streets, she guided him through the ins and outs of the city boulevards, the sound of her voice gently guiding him home.
She was waiting in the front hall as he walked through the door, wearing a thin robe, the hem of the old shirt, one of his, she used as nightwear. She looked strangely vulnerable, standing there, staring at him with hesitant eyes, arms wrapped around herself.
"I'm glad you're back," she said softly, and warm sincerity colored her tone.
Those words made all the difference.