It had been a long day at work. An unusually long day at that. Customer after customer asking for the same product.

"I'm sorry," he'd say, "We've already sold out. I can put it on backorder for you."

Many customers upset. "Don't you know that we have been in business with you guys for several years now? You should've known we were going to order this product! Why didn't you set a few aside for us?"

A few understanding. "That's fine."

It didn't matter how they reacted, however. Every e-mail, every call; somehow they all managed to make him feel guilty. As if he were some god that could just make what they desired appear right before them, grant their wishes within a second. He wished he could do that. Oh how much easier that would make things! But he could not. He was only a man. A man stuck with a desk job for a major technology distributor that had businesses suffering beneath them.

Erik sat at the bar, his face tucked in his hands and his brain pulsing against his skull. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry or throw a glass against the wall. Or both. "I just fucking hate technology, Nadir. These people are ridiculous."

Nadir chuckled. He understood his friend's pain. A life in customer service was terrible, but he got through it quite easily. Erik, however, was new to the business. It would be a while before he adjusted to the frustrations that came with the job. "It will be fine, Erik. We just have to get through this week and things will be back to normal."

"But after that there will be the next trend, then the next… it just won't fucking end."

Nadir pat Erik's shoulder in an act of reassurance. Erik pulled away angrily, not wanting any of his friend's tenderness. "Oh, right," Nadir said, smiling mischievously, "I forgot you don't like being touched when you're in distress."

"We've been friends for several years, you think by now you'd know I don't quite like being touched at all," Erik snarled.

Nadir rolled his eyes. He knew Erik was just being ridiculous, overwhelmed by a bad day at work. "I apologize for being compassionate."

The bartender finally approached after finishing up with another customer. "Is there something I can get you, sirs?"

"Two shots of Smirnoff, please," Erik said, no hesitation to his request. He'd been thinking of what to drink ever since he packed up at work, what would help take his mind off of things. Vodka seemed like his best bet. Something quick and heavy.

"You've got to watch your drinking, buddy," Nadir whispered as the bartender walked off to take care of his order. "Don't make this a habit." He wasn't used to seeing Erik drink, but at the same time he wasn't used to seeing Erik under much stress either. Except maybe personal stress when he was a freelancer. Still, he'd never handled his stress this way. Usually he'd sit down at the piano and play a song or several and everything would be over with, his mind cleared and ready to get back to work.

"It won't become a habit. I just need something to drown out my thoughts right now," Erik assured him.

Nadir sighed. He too was exhausted from the workday, desperate to retire back to his place. "Well, if you don't mind, I must get home and feed the cat."

Erik laughed. The bartender placed his shots in front of him. "You're still taking care of her?"

"What am I going to do, take her to the pound? You're the one who rescued her! Why didn't you take on the responsibility instead of just dropping her at my place?"

Erik downed one of his shots, the alcohol burning through him on its way down before settling in the pit of his stomach. He would've taken her in. He wanted to. But he was afraid. Afraid even many years after losing his first and final, he decided, pet. "I'm much too busy," he lied. Well, maybe it wasn't entirely a lie. He did like to keep himself busy, but he knew deep down that he could've made the time for a cat in his life.

Nadir shook his head. "Always with the excuses. I've got to go." He stood from his stool, straightening the cuff of his dress shirt. "Don't waste yourself too much. I'd hate to find you slumped over in some gutter in the morning."

Nadir left Erik's side as he downed the next shot. The burn was nice, a relief to his senses. He wanted more vodka, but he knew it was best to listen to Nadir. As much as he hated it, his friend was always right. Instead, he asked for a beer.

A crowd of people behind him erupted in applause as a band left the stage and the night's host walked back on in their place, pulling a mic from its stand. "Give it up again for White Horse!" The crowd applauded once more, a few hollering.

"Alright, alright. We've got another band for you. They're a little newer to this scene, but the past two weeks they've been here I think they were very well loved and they have actually become one of my personal favorites. Give it up for Mephistopheles!"

The crowd broke into loud assortment of clapping hands and shouts that made Erik's ears buzz as a band of girls took to the stage. Erik turned to watch what all the uproar was about, a beer in his hand and a mustache of foam above his lips.

"Thank you, thank you," a girl with obnoxiously red hair took the mic. "We are Mephistopheles, a little band that's been around for a few months now although we haven't started playing live until just recently."

"About time!" One of the enthusiastic crowd members hollered.

The girl laughed. "About time, indeed," she agreed. "Anyways, we're going to do a little introduction and we'll be on with it. How does that sound?" She paused for the crowd's participation, seemingly satisfied with the immense amount of shouting. "Sounds good. Anyways, this is Meg," she pointed to a dark haired girl strumming a few notes on her bass to make sure she was in tune. "Jammes," the one on drums, tapping out on the drum set, out of Erik's view, "And Christine," the blond on guitar.

"Also me. Carlotta," she said, pretending that she forgot herself when it was quite obvious she had not. The crowd appeared to favor her most, their applause for her being stronger compared to the applause for the other band members. "Thank you, thank you." Erik released a small snort of both amusement and distaste for Carlotta's character.

"This one seems to be a favorite of many. It's called Jewels."

The crowd cheered their appreciation for the song choice. The band started playing. Hard rock, Erik identified the genre. They weren't bad, he thought. Not something he'd crave to hear, but not bad.

"Thank you!" Carlotta shouted, the song ending with the applause of the crowd. "We've got another three songs for you all tonight. This next is one of the first songs we've ever written together. Let's see if you guys know it."

Carlotta's singing was not all that exceptional, but it carried the band well enough. That was until her mic started dysfunctioning. She kept singing still, but no one could hear her over the rest of the band. The guitarist and bassist looked to one another, unsure of what to do for a few seconds. The bassist nodded her head towards the mic in front of the guitarist. She appeared to panic for a moment and then began singing Carlotta's part. The mic was turned down since she was only meant to be part of the background, but her voice came out over the speakers, sad and sweet.

Erik felt something jump within him. This voice, her voice, was something out of a dream. It was not what would be considered an outstanding voice by the day's terms—not something one would usually hear on the radio—but it was the most wonderful thing he'd heard in a long time. It was unique. Music in its rawest form. He tried to remember her name. What had Carlotta said it was? Maybe he could search her up later, find her online. Surely with a voice like that she's had to have performed her own music or at least covered a few songs for others to enjoy.

Carlotta's mic started working once more and her voice came back over, drowning the guitarist's singing. The girl ceased and moved to the background once more, focusing on the guitar in her hands.

Their song came to an end and the crowd roared with applause. Carlotta laughed, embarrassed her mic had malfunctioned. "Let's hope that doesn't happen again," she said, grabbing her water bottle nearby and hydrating herself before the next song.

Let's hope it does, Erik thought.

They reached the end of their set, leaving the crowd as they'd started. "Thank you guys once again!" Carlotta yelled over the ending of a song. "That is Meg on bass, Jammes on drums, Christine on guitar-"

"Christine," Erik repeated to himself, praying he'd remember through the building effects of intoxication.

"We are Mephistopheles! Thank you for listening! Goodnight!"

The crowd applauded and they left the stage, the host coming back to introduce the next band. Erik turned back towards the bar to regard his mug of beer, nearly empty.

That girl, he thought. There is something about her.

Christine tossed her guitar back in its case and carried it with her to the bar as she sat at the far end. "Nachos, please," she said to the bartender who was waiting, knowing that she was going to order as she always did after performing a show.

She rubbed her face with her hands. Oh could that set have gone any worse? First she had forgotten half of her solo and had to improvise. It sounded fine, but it did not pale in comparison to what it was actually supposed to sound like. Then the lead mic started going out and she took over. She couldn't seem to erase that dirty look Carlotta shot her before the next song. What was she to do? Leave the crowd hanging?

Erik stood from his stool and walked down towards her. He didn't know what compelled him to do so. He never got the courage to talk to strangers, especially not strange girls. "You're Christine, right?" he asked.

The girl turned, her eyes seemingly sad and weary. "I'm Christine," she confirmed.

A voice spoke in Erik's head. Walk away. She doesn't want to talk to you. It wasn't loud enough over the alcohol. "Might I say, you have one of the most wonderful voices I've ever heard."

She sat dumbfounded, her cheeks coloring lightly. Wonderful? She'd heard several things about her voice—'alright,' 'needs work,' 'decent'—but 'wonderful' was not one of them. "Thank you," she replied, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Erik," he introduced himself, thinking it only fair that she knew his name as well, lifting his hand to shake hers. She took it without reluctance, his hand enveloping hers.

"Erik," she repeated, a small nod.

He took the stool beside her without thinking, immediately realizing how inappropriate his behavior was. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not usually like this. I had a bad day at work and I guess I'm kind of…"

"Drunk?" she finished his sentence, barely able to hold back a small giggle.

Erik nodded. "I promised my friend I wouldn't allow myself to get this way, but it's been a long day and I guess I wasn't aware of how strong alcohol could be."

Christine sighed, her shoulders relaxing with the rest of her body. "I know what you mean. Work has been shit lately."

He laughed, not expecting such language from a girl like her. But maybe it made sense considering the type of music she'd just been performing. "You could say that again."

"Retail," she said. "What about you?"

"Customer service."

"Ah, so we both work in hell?"

Erik laughed. "It feels that way sometimes, doesn't it?"

"All the time," Christine corrected him, resting her elbow on the bar and her cheek in her hand.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to think through the intoxication and other things bubbling in his stomach. She was pretty. Oh she was so pretty with her long blond curls and her soft, soft face. How could God bless a creature with such a lovely voice and a lovely face at the same time? "May I get you a drink?" he asked, not even realizing he'd asked it until he did.

Christine looked at him in surprise for a moment, but her face softened back, replaced by a small grin and shake of her head. "No thanks. I've got work in the morning. Besides, if I went home drunk, Mamma would kill me."

Erik smiled. "Mamma?" She appeared to be independent enough by what little he'd seen of her. He couldn't picture her needing someone else to take care of her or even living with someone else. At least not her mother.

She nodded. "Mamma takes care of me. She was the wife of one of my father's friends. She's been looking after me since my father passed a few years ago."

Something felt like it shot Erik. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Christine shook her head. "It's fine. Just life, you know?"

"Life is shit. It's unfair to the best of us. I bet you never did anything to deserve your father's passing."

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. He thought by the look in her eyes that he might have offended her. "Mamma told me everything happens for a reason, you know? So that we can move on, settle down. If my father hadn't passed, I probably wouldn't be in this band. I probably wouldn't even be talking to you right now either."

Erik thought for a moment. Maybe she was right. If he hadn't had such a horrible day at work, he wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't have had anything to drink, he wouldn't have heard her sing, he wouldn't have found the courage to talk to her. Or maybe it was not courage. With every passing moment, he found that he couldn't really think straight. Instead of speaking, Erik settled on nodding, afraid to say something ridiculous and either embarrass himself or scare her away.

Christine's nachos made it in front of her, placed by the bartender. "Thank you," she smiled, smacking down a ten-dollar-bill onto the bar for the bartender's taking. She slid the paper tray of nachos between them. "Have some," she said.

Erik shook his head. "I'm alright. I'm not hungry." That and he wasn't too familiar with this bar. Those nachos might satisfy him for now only to come back and get him in the morning. He was sure of it.

"They're so good, though," Christine said, lifting a chip by its empty corner. The cheese fell down, dripping onto more chips below.

Erik gave in with a sigh, pulling a drenched chip from the tray. Surely she would not order these if she knew they were going to seek their revenge the next day. And she was right. They were good. He needed something to soak up the alcohol sitting in his stomach anyways.

"Well, Erik," she said, consuming her sixth and final chip for the night, "I've got to head on home. Mamma's gonna kill me. Or worse… send a search party."

Erik laughed. "Alright, Christine."

"It was nice to meet you." She lifted her hand for his once more.

"You as well."

He let go of her shaking hand and watched as she lifted her guitar case, pulling the straps onto her back before trotting out the door. It wasn't until he was taking a cab back to his apartment building that he realized he forgot to ask for her number. Wait, no. That would have been inappropriate. The least he could have done was ask if there was another day in which they would be performing. What was the band's name again?