Haida peered up into the bathroom mirror, his dull sage eyes staring back at him. He leaned forward and turned on the sink, his long back aching slightly as he rinsed his face. The cold water rejuvenated him from his drowsy stupor via staring at a computer monitor for nearly eight hours. His cheeks were flushed already from his first beer, which made his freckles—god, he hated his freckles—stand out even more against his skin.
The gangly accountant sighed, glancing down at his dripping hands. A scar had formed over the past several months on his right palm, where he had been slashed by the box cutter. It had faded but would always be there, the redden flesh a constant reminder of...that night.
Haida shuddered, wishing he could forget the incident. Going with his gut had never been his strong-suit but seeing Retsuko's face tucked into her winter scarf, clutching her phone worriedly to her face raised his suspicions. It didn't help that, after nearing her from behind, he could make out the party on the other line who was in near hysterics, repeatedly asking where Retsuko was and if she was safe.
He ripped a paper towel from the hanging dispenser, recalling how it felt to hold Retsuko's rag doll-like body, her eyes never once opening to assure him that she was okay, as his greatest fear seeped into his core.
After that night his nightmares had returned.
He didn't tell anyone about them, not even Fenneko. Then again, he wasn't sure if he would be physically able to describe them. Each time the memory...no, a memory gone bad, had disturbed him from his sleep, Haida would awaken to wet cheeks and utter panic clenching at his chest. He even had experienced stirring himself by his own cries, her name falling off of the tip of his tongue and lost into the night of his empty apartment.
He never could lose Retsuko.
And yet a part of him felt like he already had. After a grueling six months of limited contact with his fellow accountant, albeit the occasional text message, Haida felt as if their encounter at the karaoke lounge had never even occurred. Sure, Retsuko was back to work but she still appeared to be having trouble adjusting. She refrained from eating with others and was extremely quiet...at least, much quieter than usual.
Even Director Ton was noticeably less eager to assign tedious tasks to her; once he even stopped calling her 'Calendar' for a whole three hours.
Haida continued to watch his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his untidy hair.
'She wasn't even yours to lose in the first place, asshole.' he thought, watching the spikes at the top of his head spring back into place as he removed his hand from his roots.
Yet the way she had looked that night, her death growl amplified by the microphone she wound around her delicate fingers and her wide bob of red hair appearing to float around her face.
She was radiant. And he was the only one there to witness her splendor.
To find out the girl he had adored for this long was an angel from heavy metal heaven was enough to render his pulse erratic.
He watched as his face redden even further, cursing under his breath. 'No...you don't know her. And remember your decision.'
Never happy with his self-image but satisfied at his efforts, he stepped back out into the dining area of the bar. There were strings of lights overhead that flickered during occasional intervals; it made Haida feel even dizzier even though he had only downed a single glass of alcohol. He sauntered around the countertops over to where Fenneko was still sitting at a booth, sipping at her second (or third?) beer while scrolling nonchalantly on her phone.
She glanced up quickly from her screen and must have noticed the frown on his face.
"You're thinking about it again."
Haida grimaced, raising his hand to get the nearest server's attention. He ordered another round of stouts before turning back to his coworker.
"You don't have to announce it, you know." he huffed, absent-mindedly rubbing the inside of his palm with his middle finger, tracing the long scar around the base of his wrist.
Fenneko sighed, finally putting her phone face-down to stare up at Haida. And also concentrate on downing her beer.
"Look, I can't help it. You have this stupid look on your face every time you think about it. Like you're constipated or something."
"It's not that bad!"
Fenneko smirked as she watched her jittery friend graciously accept their newly delivered beverages. His brow crinkling with frustration, he took two angry gulps of the bitter liquid, warmth flooding throughout his torso.
"When are you going to write your resignation letter?" It felt...surreal to hear the words leave her mouth and she would be lying if she said it didn't drag up some wistful emotions. Fenneko didn't miss Haida's reaction though as he flinched, his knuckles paling against his hand's grip on the glass.
"Ah…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his stomach lurch. He settled his pint glass on the slightly sticky table and rested his hands in his lap. "I don't know...when the time is right, I guess." He watched the molasses-hued bubbles rush to the top of his drink, the foam pooling at the top like fog over a river.
"There never will be a right time." said Fenneko flatly. "And the longer you wait the more difficult you're going to make it for yourself."
Haida often detested how much his social media-savvy confidante was right. And oddly enough, this applied even more to matters of the heart: a woman with a superb intuition with little to no interest in the romantic relationships of others, let alone herself. Sometimes he wondered if it was a super power. Or just plain sociopathic tendencies.
"You're right," he confessed. "I think...I think I'm still trying to convince myself into thinking everything will go back to the way things were."
Fenneko blinked, subconsciously analyzing her companion's downcast face. She took another swig of her beer and realized the alcohol was serving as two separate catalysts: she felt lightheaded and high-spirited, but also was experiencing some uneasiness.
She ultimately knew that, in order to be a good friend, she needed to balance both her honesty and her delivery, despite now feeling bubbles rushing up to her esophagus.
"This is the third time we've asked her to go out with us now and surprise—she's a no show." Burping slightly, she fixed her solemn gaze on the remaining beer suds at the bottom of her glass. "If she's stopped reaching out to us as friends, what makes you think she'll change her mind about you?"
It wasn't an unkind question. But it certainly wasn't what he wanted to hear.
He couldn't respond though, his stomach growling again as the beer sloshed around uncomfortably. His silence confirmed everything Fenneko alright needed to know. Retsuko had always been flaky with social gatherings but for the past few weeks she had been especially hesitant in accepting invitations. Each inquiry was met with an excuse or a few bumbling sentences on how she needed to stay and finish up additional financial reports.
Yet the two-thirds of the trio exchanged glances when Retsuko silently excused herself for the evening, clocking out an hour earlier than usual. And not one peep came from Director Ton. Something was definitely up but neither of them felt it was appropriate to intervene.
Haida's mind was now even more foggy due to his second pint and he nonchalantly observed Fenneko return to the bright and captivating world of Instagram. Or Twitter. Or whatever handle she was using to locate her next victim to deduce.
He soon found himself slipping into his memories back to the night he and Retsuko found themselves sitting across from one another, in a fashion similar to this, neither speaking to one another for what felt like hours.
Haida rested his cheek against the palm of his hand, still embarrassed by what exactly had transpired that night.
He hadn't meant to yell at her; no, he had been yelling for her. He was high on adrenaline and frustration. And damn did it feel good to release what he had passively bottled up for weeks, months. It was a last resort tactic, he had tried to convince himself later on. He knew she was musically inclined, the way he had first seen her on the stage with those other girls, her hips swaying to the music and head bobbing to the beat.
And his presumptions proved true when she didn't hesitate to fire back at him, screeching into the microphone with tears cascading down her cherubic face. He knew, then and now, that he could speak her language.
Haida felt his cheeks bloom into—if possible—an even darker crimson red, the words echoing throughout his ears as if it were only yesterday he had declared them.
"Look, I don't expect you to trust the whole damn world. So for now...just trust in me."
And the whole matchmaking app situation. It seemed absolutely bogus to him now, but he would probably admit (though not openly) that it gave him the last drop of confidence in an ocean of uncertainty and fear. A slight grin tugging at his lips, he concurrently believed it was all bullshit. Gori most likely only had a couple of volunteers sign their information off to her, so it was only a matter of chance that the algorithm happened to match him and Retsuko.
To him now, he felt like there was no such thing as perfection. From him overstepping his boundaries—at least, he felt like he may have— to Retsuko quietly shutting them out just a mere few days after the two had battled it out with the karaoke machine; Haida was left stumped. What was she thinking? And, if he truly went through with this half-baked plan, would he be willing to take on the idea that he may never actually find out?
"Haida...hey, Haida!" Fenneko's slurred voice drew him out of his haze. He suddenly became aware of the slight tremors that were emitting below him, the tabletop quavering underneath the two. "Your phone's ringing."
He quickly guzzled the rest of his beer before snatching the vibrating device.
His heart nearly plummeted into his stomach as he gaped at the caller ID.
Fenneko witnessed her friend's mouth falling open out of her peripheral vision and her eyes widened.
Hands shaking, Haida pressed the speaker up to his ear, trying to hear what he could over the bar's crowds' sporadic laughter and general chatter (and Fenneko's inebriated exclamation of, "Is that Retsuko?! Tell her I said hi!").
"H-hello?" But there was no reply. He squeezed the phone more tightly between his palm and ear, steadying the bottom with his opposite hand. "...R-Retsuko?" he tried. Still, there wasn't an audible response.
Haida had the gut-wrenching idea for a split second that she had merely butt-dialed him, but before he could hang up he heard it: the soft mewls of anguish faintly accompanied by the occasional muffle of a familiar guitar cadenza.
Retsuko was crying.
Without thinking, Haida instantly stood and reached into his pocket, fishing three paper bills from his wallet and tossing them onto the table.
"Wh-where are you going? Where's Retsuko? Haida!" Fenneko whined, knocking a glass over with her elbow in the process of making an, albeit drunken and sloppy, grab at his jacket sleeve.
He turned around, and Fenneko was struck with a flashback to the beginning of the year when her coworker had the same determined glint in his eye. The same look he had given Anai when Retsuko could not convince the new employee to polish off some data entries at the end of the work day; but Haida had easily stepped between the two to firmly redirect her orders to Anai.
"I...don't know what's happened." he breathed, pulling his zipper up his jacket line. "She's upset. But...I think I know where she is."
And then he was gone, the bar door left swinging open as the evening autumn breeze crept into the building, a few leaves scattering around the welcome mat.
Fenneko hiccuped, staring at the plethora of empty beer glasses before her.
Sweeping her eyes lazily over towards the cash Haida had left, she calculated at breakneck speed that there was just enough leftover for a final pint of liquid courage. She motioned towards an oncoming server who coincidentally was skillfully holding a platter of pints above his head.
Fenneko raised her glass to Haida in her now solitary booth, letting out her accustomed airy laugh. She sipped at the cold beverage, pondering as she enjoyed her night-on-the-town finale.
'If this is his willpower at work, he's going to need a hell of a lot more of it.'
