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SPENDING ETERNITY IN A JAPANESE CONVENIENCE STORE | p.js

STARRING: Jay x fem!reader

RUNTIME: 17.9k

SYNOPSIS: The world after midnight was a neon-lit fantasy for anyone who stayed up long enough to witness it. Taking the midnight shift at a convenience store widened your once mundane perspective of the metropolis, but it certainly didn’t prepare you for a cute boy that seemingly knew your name. Oh, and it definitely didn’t prepare you for a twist of fate in the form of an austere whodunnit.

GENRE: Mystery, magical realism, romance, comedy

WARNINGS: R15+ | Profanity | Mentions of the sex industry | Depictions of violence

DIRECTOR’S CUT: This is also a reupload and a completely refurbished version of the same fic back in @/dhoya. Read at your own discretion. Also, heavily inspired by Murakami's After Dark.

SOUNDTRACK: HERE.

COPYRIGHT OROCHXI 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

There was a time between midnight and dawn that you decided to call “after dark.” To the naked eye, not a lot seemed to happen—midnight taxis carried drunken fools who couldn’t restrain themselves; an eerie, yet soothing ambiance managed to fill the air with the lingering lights of street lamps strewn across the pavement; the distant glow of convenience store signs that illuminated under the deep abyss of the night sky added to a picturesque vision of a starlit evening.

The times for “after dark” usually began at 2 A.M., when the headlights that zoomed past each intersection lessened. It was during these times where the eye would perform tricks and illustrate shadows that weren’t supposed to exist. Dust that danced with the soothing winds would often form figures under dim lights—perhaps mimicking remnants of bodies that passed by during the day. Ears would pick up clandestinely produced sounds that reverberated in the empty streets. Sometimes the cause of this strange occurrence was predictable—either a cat that tripped over a haphazardly full trash can, or maybe a group of rats that covertly scattered around the city’s large sewage system. Often more than not, footsteps that appeared out of nowhere and everywhere all at once would playfully fool one’s hearing when walking alone during the periods of “after dark.”

What signaled this inchoate part of the night was the burst of laughter that emerged from the izakaya down the street, somewhat adjacent to the branch of the convenience store you worked at. It was great for business, since the occasional purchase of cigarettes and condoms from the same customers who wasted away their money on overpriced cocktails raised your paycheck. Some of them would ask you to join them on their travels to lands of pleasure, but you politely declined each time. Money was tight as a college student, and time was also a currency in your agenda. Hours of debauchery were just too expensive for someone like you, although the idea itself piqued your interest.

In contrast to what most people would often infer, convenience stores were much more active in these hours than they are in the day. Travelers who stopped by to grab a cup of coffee were replaced with lovers of the night who wanted to practice safe sex. The same can be said for office workers that came and went during midday; your version of these people was in the form of shut-ins whose stock of potato chips disappeared with their will to contribute to modern capitalist society. Schoolgirls who occupied the seats behind the counter to gossip about whatever happened in some classroom turned into women of the night who took much-needed breaks from their line of work.

One of them would often engage in conversation with you—a woman by the name of “Angel Eyes.” She was a sweet girl that entered the districts of red lights too young and too soon. You didn’t really know how she got the name, since her eyes sparked the temptation of the devil more so than a holy, divine angel that fell from the sky. You would know she’d enter the convenience store by the timid clicks of her high heels and the feathery, off-white, and often blood-stained attire of a short mini dress and a decrepit puffer jacket—most likely the only one she could afford. Watching Angel Eyes enter the store would often be a hallmark of your day, just because there was so much weak-kneed apprehension in a woman that supposedly embodied what a femme fatale should be. Angel Eyes carried the demeanor of an abandoned mutt in the streets—startled, lost, and disillusioned by everything around her. You likened her to the tale of Laika the Space Dog, a being of innocence marred by desperation and survival. Lonely, wandering, wavering and irresolute. It was no wonder she would frequent the convenience store at this hour. Other than the fact that her line of work was nocturnal, she probably just needed companionship that didn’t rely on transactional value.

Nonetheless, she showed you kindness in the smallest ways. She was also great at making sure you didn’t feel too lonely behind the cash register, even if you didn’t mind the solitude that the job requires from you. She would often talk about her talent in hairdressing, a skill she picked up before she left her homeland. In her tiny little palms, she would give out crumpled coupons to a local, home-owned salon whenever she’d drop by. She even gave you discount codes, even if you were the one who could afford a haircut and a dye job at full price. Most of the time, you would think that she needed them more than you did, but she told you she was keeping every cent she made to send it all back to her family back home.

“You could change up your do once in a while,” She’d say in broken fractions of your native language while attempting to French braid your hair. Even though she wasn’t particularly good at the type of hair you had, it didn’t matter when she was trying her best.

Angel Eyes usually came in at 3 A.M. with a smile on her face. She used to just buy the cheapest brand of cigarettes and sit outside the automatic doors, but ever since she asked for your name, she began occupying the empty space next to the coffee machine. The first time she talked to you was when she got a massive black eye, with tears streaming down her face as she waved you off for your concern. You did the best you can at the time, though, and offered her cream-filled bread that you saved for yourself after your shift. Sometimes, you would even resort to petty theft, scavenging through the expired bin to find neatly-wrapped rice balls in all flavors. There was a certain angle at the store that wasn’t captured by the cameras strewn around by your store manager after countless shoplifting performed by either young hooligans who considered a crime as a rite of passage or homeless regulars in destitution that needed sustenance. Using your know-how around the store as an advantage, you would often traverse these angles with the skillfulness of a renowned spy, retrieving cups filled with crushed ice to give Angel Eyes coffee for free. In return, she would treat you with some of the drinks she’d stock in the small hidden pockets of her puffer jacket. This could range between lukewarm hot chocolate, corn soup, or an ice-cold can of pop that she managed to steal from the bar.

What followed was an extremely odd friendship that gave you an opening into a seemingly new world. Even though Angel Eyes lived in the same city as you, she gave you an image of a different reality from your usual patterns of midnight mundanity at the convenience store. It was quite strange to you, really, that such worlds could co-exist in one metropolitan area.

So when you checked the time on the cash register’s screen, you expected the automatic doors to reveal Angel Eyes in her dolled-up state. Instead, you got a lean, young man clad in a hoodie and some sweatpants. Within the distance at hand, you found his figure quite attractive. You couldn’t tell if you knew him, but there was a sense of familiarity in the way he looked. Something akin to deja vu plagued your memory as you quickly glanced at him, but you ignored the feeling. Sure, there was something special in the way he moved, but it wasn’t anything too mesmerizing. You’ve probably seen a few faces or two that somewhat resembled his back on campus.

It wasn’t like Angel Eyes had a specific routine. Her line of work was always unpredictable, and the only thing in her life that resembled a stable routine was her little meetings with you. The same could be said to some extent for you. There were the regulars from the izakaya, and then there were the rare events of mysterious men in suits who bought a pack of Camel Turkish Gold and left without a single word.

Assuming he was either a college student like you, or one of those shut-ins that frequented the store, you decided to continue on with your shift. Since he was the only customer around, you took your phone out and began to scroll through a book chapter you left off from one of your classes.

“Hey,” He said, confidently leaning his forearm into the counter. The English language reverberated in your ears, causing you to snap out of the cash register to pay a slight bit of attention to your newfound interlocutor. Looking up from your phone, you saw the young man up close. He had sharp eyes that were permanently furrowed with his thick brows, and an angular face that closely resembled a triangle.

“I think I’ve seen you somewhere before,” He continued in English, fiddling with the zippers of his leather jacket as he flashed you a smirk. One of those guys, I suppose.

At this hour, it was a common occurrence for you to get customers like him. Bored college students who have nothing else to do save for a trip to the convenience store. Some of them were from the same university as you, but the thing about working a late-night shift was the quasi-anonymity of it all. By the next day, when you would bump into one of them, there was a mutual sense of respect and secrecy surrounding the whole event—almost like a forbidden rendezvous that ceased to exist once the sun rose. There was no interest on your part; you just wanted a little bit of disposable income. Persistence was a battle that required some restraint, but you were used to it by the third or fourth night.

“Sir, if you’re not gonna buy anything, then I suggest you leave. You’re causing trouble.”

This was the common line you would utter, but if things were to escalate even further—say, a drunken young adult who lost all their balance and composure threatened to strangle you from your counter—you had a safety net. The police station was adjacent to the store, and it only took you about five or six minutes to arrive and file a report. Furthermore, you secretly had your phone with you at all times, allowing you to speed dial 119 whenever you saw fit.

You kept your grip tight on your phone, eyeing the man with squinted lids. He didn’t seem drunk, nor did he reek of alcohol. The scent of his cologne exploded once you tried to lean forward to capture more details about his current situation. You couldn’t tell what it was from the notes that your nose captured, but your nose was never even that good, to begin with. All you knew was that it was strong, causing you to step back and cover your nose in the work handkerchief you’d keep below the cash register. The man looked offended at your reaction, prompting him to sniff the hides of his leather jacket and the white shirt he wore underneath.

“Are you a foreigner?” You asked, using the same tongue that he did. The man didn’t look like someone from abroad. Maybe he was an exchange student or an expat’s son. They were always the type to flaunt their linguistic skills even when nobody asked them to. By the looks of his branded attire, he pretty much exuded the image you had of someone who grew up elsewhere. One who had enough money to study in America or Europe, spending day and night under the flashing strobe lights of raves and party drugs.

“No, but I’ve been studying here for three years,” He replied. “I’m from Korea, but I wanted to go to university in Japan because I like anime.”

“One of those, I see.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, furrowing his brows even further. You kept your eyes on your phone and contemplated dialing 119 to kick him out of the store. The last thing you wanted was to engage in a conversation with a weeaboo.

“What’s your name?” He asked, returning to the initial reason he came to the store. Before you could ask him to buy something or leave, he rushed to the large glass coolers and came back through the snack isle, a couple of items in his hands ready to be scanned.

“It’s in the name tag, so yeah.” You said, taking his impulse purchases. Two cans of Red Bull with a side of a large bag of salted potato chips—the typical diet of a college student.

“Your brother tutored me for calculus, by the way,” He said, tilting his head to examine your features. You returned the sentiment with confusion. Your brother taught many people on the side, and you weren’t interested in him enough to ask about his students. Sometimes, you would get odd stories here and there of the oddballs he’d encounter, but names were never uttered. Becoming a tutor didn’t necessarily require client confidentiality, but your brother was too kind for his own good. Instead of referring to his students by name in his conversations with you, he would just call them this student or that kid the other day, making it rather difficult for you to track who he was talking about. He could’ve been talking about Jay, but you digress. Jay looked too mundane to be the type of person that would gulp down an entire bottle of honey in his bag if he couldn’t solve a problem correctly.

Jay rested his elbow on the counter, taking an airpod out of his ear. It surprised you that his hearing was still pristine, since the music he listened to bled out of his earphones in a way that competed with the ambient, corporate tunes that your store would play. You absent-mindedly nodded as you continued to let the beeps from your scanner reverberate throughout the empty store, often timing it to the rhythm of the song he was listening to.

“I go by Jay, but the legal papers say Park Jongseong.”

Replying with another silent nod, you bagged his purchase in plastic.

“Your brother told me you major in history,”

This time, you raised your head, giving him what he bought. You knitted your brows in annoyance—not to him, but towards your brother. What happened to the self-inflicted client confidentiality that protected his students? Why were you subject to ridicule and a breach of personal information while his students didn’t have to suffer through the second-hand embarrassment that went alongside brotherly conflict? Sure, you weren’t the type to stalk his students on the internet, but it would’ve been easier to have a name and a face associated with, say, Mr. Honey Addict or Ms. Tiara.

Your brother cares a lot about you, and you know that, but there were just instances of disappointment when he’d get an essential part of your life wrong. He often forgot your birthday, leading to his work colleagues and classmates greeting you on social media on the wrong date. One time, he proudly bragged about your achievements in high school as a young photographer, only to have several of his friends show up at an empty exhibit. Firstly, you didn’t say you were contributing. You were just assisting the photography club by acting as a fixer, obtaining legal permits for locations that required it and securing a small gallery that was within their budget. Second, his friends were fed the wrong address and ended up causing a scene with the security guards stationed outside the gate of your school, demanding to be let in because they knew you. While it was all resolved in a hitch, you gave your brother the silent treatment for two weeks.

Now, he was giving out wrong information to the students he tutors. Even if history had been your strong suit since middle school, it was difficult to pinpoint the geography and time period. If Jay had suddenly asked you to give him assistance on something as old as the Neolithic period, you were sure to call your brother on the spot and blast him for his forgetfulness. At that point, it didn’t matter to you that the cameras would reflect you using your phone. Telling your brother off was worth getting scolded by your manager.

His fingers grazed over yours as he took his purchase, sliding the plastic bag into his backpack with ease. You tiptoed from the counter and tried to get a glimpse of what was inside his bag—and sure enough, you found three empty bottles of honey, each with a different brand. A huge, beaming grin was etched on your face, and you covertly took your phone out to snap a picture of your new encounter. After sending the photo to your brother, you quickly tucked your phone in your pocket, clearing your throat as he finished adjusting the items in his backpack.

“Not really, but it’s a prereq to my course. What about it?” You asked. Jay slowly nodded his head to absorb the information you gave him, trying his best to hide the dejection and sense of betrayal on his face.

“Are you any good at it?” He replied, a sense of desperation in his tone.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed, alerting you in the process. A scowl formed on your face as you ignored the useless update notification.

Where is Angel Eyes?

“Hello? Are you there?” He asked, waving his hands across your face. “You alright? Did I piss you off? That’s sort of reserved for when I’d get an equation wrong on purpose, but anyways, you good?”

You blinked in quick succession, muttering a small apology for your sudden fugue state.

“Y-yeah, I’m alright. I got an A+ last semester, so I’d say I’m good at the subject,” You promptly replied, regaining your composure. Your eyes shifted between Jay and the digital numbers that represented time on your cash register.

3:08 A.M., and no sign of Angel Eyes.

There were certain circumstances where she’d be late in your daily encounters with her, but she’d notify you beforehand with a text or a quick call. A sigh escaped your lips as you reminded yourself that only eight minutes had passed. Surely, she’ll come around later—a busy day, perhaps.

“When does your shift end?” He asked, opening the can of Red Bull and gulping a concerning amount. It wasn’t your place to lecture him on caffeine intake, since you dabbled in outrageous shots of coffee. What was within the vicinity of your authority at the store, though, was telling him to leave. He already bought what he needed from the store. What more could he want?

“I came in at 9:30 today, so I’m ending in about thirty,” You absent-mindedly replied, keeping your focus on the automatic doors of the convenience stores. Even if you were aware of the sensors capturing strong gusts of wind, it still reignited the hope within you that your nightly companion was unharmed.

“Oh, I see,” He said with a sigh. He took his backpack and occupied the empty seats behind the counter. As he continued sipping on his energy drink, he opened his laptop and perched it on the wooden surface. The urge to kick him out of the store completely was there, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything against the law. There were designated spaces for workers and students alike to plug their laptops and get some work done, so it didn’t warrant a phone call to the police or your disdain.

“I’m kinda stuck on a test I’m having next week, but history’s an elective for me, so I never really paid attention in class,” He explained, using his nimble fingers to quickly scroll through a dense document on his screen. You kept up the pattern of locking and unlocking your phone within intervals of a few seconds, each passage of time raising your heart levels. Your gut raised alarms in your head, but you tried to suppress them.

“What’s it about?” You asked, keeping your attention on your phone instead of his laptop. You stepped out of your counter and leaned beside the coffee machine, arms crossed as you continued to huff out a string of sighs. He turned his chair towards you and transferred his laptop to his thighs.

“World War 2. Cliche, I know.”

A long, drawn-out hum and a nod escaped your lips as you processed his statement. Controlling the urge to roll your eyes, you jogged to the backroom to fetch your own backpack. With a shift occupying what would’ve been your sleep schedule, you had to fit schoolwork somewhere in between. Plus, maybe this would distract you from Angel Eyes for a little. Her line of work may be dangerous, but this wasn’t completely out of the line. Maybe she was caught up with a rich, tenacious customer that she couldn’t escape.

As you rushed out of the backroom, you tripped your toe on the small, silver ramp that separate the staff area from the main counter. A string of laughs entered the silent atmosphere of the convenience store, coupled with a sudden redness on your cheeks.

“I know I just met you, but I’m sorry I’m too hot, I guess,” He said, leaning his body on the chair the way a model would.

You rolled your eyes right in his direction, slinging the fallen backpack on your shoulders. You checked your elbows to see if there were any bruises or scars that needed treatment. The perk of working at a convenience store was knowing you had access to everything at the tip of your fingers. That’s why they were called convenient, after all.

“One more strike, and I’m not helping you with your history test,” You snapped, taking your laptop out. You began to look for the notes you wrote last year—coincidentally matching his upcoming test’s topic.

“You will help me, though, because I’ll tell your brother that you’re being mean,” He replied, taking his phone out and hovering your brother’s contact information to your face. To drive his point home, he faked a cry, balling his hands into fists and wiping invisible tears off of his cheeks. Scoffing in response, you suppressed your natural habit of exclaiming in joy whenever you found something you were looking for. This was especially valid for your poor laptop, since you never cared for organization. Your desktop was filled to the brim with Word documents dating back to high school, none of them secured in respective folders. For this reason, you often relied on the search function.

“Sure, tell him, because I’ll tell him you’re flirting. Then we’ll see who the loser is.”

Your brother being nosy was one thing; overprotectiveness was pretty much his love language. When you turned into an adult, your parents stopped giving you strict curfews. Once you moved out, they would ask for your location or text you here and then, but they never berated you for being out too long. In fact, your gig at the convenience store was met with encouragement and praise for the fact that you were earning income. Your brother was the only one who opposed the job, throwing a panicked fit when he first found out about it.

“It’s already bad enough that you got a job at such a late shift, but seriously? Kabuki-cho? Do you even know how dangerous that area is?! The Yakuza’s base is basically there, and who knows? You might be trafficked?! Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

It took a while for you to convince him, giving him hour-long lectures on how working near the red-light district wouldn’t result in you succumbing to prostitution. Even then, there was nothing wrong with the trade so long as it wasn’t forced and safe—at least that was the opinion you stood by. Though your brother still had his reservations about the location of your job, you always made to send updates or tell him stories about Angel Eyes to reduce the stigma he had around the area.

“Wow, if you really find me that hot, you should’ve just told me. Then, I wouldn’t have to ask your brother about you or stalk you on Instagram,” He said, prompting you to hit his arm with your backpack.

Having midnight shifts gave you access to a range of people, which in turn developed your radar for sleazy men. Jay was out of the list for sure, delving into his little category of “handsome as fuck but kind of annoying.” He was quite fun within his own rights, though, and your night began to take an interesting turn despite Angel Eyes’ absence in the store.

“Wow, obsessed much?” You rested your elbows on the rest counter, cocking an eyebrow at him. You had your backpack resting heavily on your lap, ready to be equipped as a weapon at any given moment. Jay raised his hands in surrender, diverting his attention back to his laptop.

“Nah, but really. This history test was a cover-up. I just wanted to get to know you since you’re apparently an amazing sniper at Warzone. My squad’s getting rusty, and I need a new recruit,” He explained. Nodding slowly, you placed your laptop back in your bag. You quickly checked the time etched above the taskbar and eased your breathing.

3:21 A.M. and still no sign of Angel Eyes.

“What do you main?” You asked. You crossed your legs and folded your arms together. Keeping your phone in your pocket, you stayed alert for any future buzzes. Jay rested his arms on the counter, lazily trudging his feet on the floor you mopped a few hours ago.

“I rush a lot. I’m pretty good, you know?” He replied, taking his phone out and showing you his stats.

“Hmm, not bad. I don’t have a rusher on my squad, so I guess we could link up.”

Unmuting your phone, you began to type out his handle and sent him a friend request. Another wide smile was etched on his lips, and you took the time to stare at his features under the fluorescent white lights.

It almost became your pattern of the night to constantly glance at your phone, heart heaving at the lack of anything from Angel Eyes. You would call her, but her line of work wouldn’t allow it. It was a long string of trouble on your end, and now that Jay was here, you wouldn’t want him to be involved in any way at all.

It wasn’t like you were ashamed of your friendship with her—it was quite the opposite. If you had the talent to write a book, you’d wholeheartedly decide to craft the main character around someone as tragic but charismatic as her. Your concern with Jay came in the form of his mischievous nature. A few conversations with Jay were quite enough for you to determine his character—endlessly curious, probably a daredevil, and most likely a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It was just too dangerous for him to gain knowledge of the world beneath the city in any way.

By the looks of it, you also assumed he was someone who couldn’t keep a secret.

“Jokes on him, because I was his best student. I just got the questions wrong to help him with his paycheck. I’m so nice, right?”

“I extend my prayers to my dear brother, who had to grace his lovely presence to the morbid demon that is Jay.” You said. You put your hands together, mimicking what you saw in the chapels. Pretending to splash holy water on him, he went along with your little play and gave out a shrill shriek.

“Out demon, out! I shall banish thee from the face of the earth and send you back to hell!” You shrieked, continuing to flick your wrist while holding an invisible bible in your other free hand. He waved his arms around and threw the large bag of potato chips toward you. The contact made you flinch, raising your arms on guard a tad bit too late. The only thing you could do to secure your victory was threaten to open the bag and eat everything in one go—which surprisingly worked. Jay got up at yanked the bag off your hands, cuddling the plastic bag like precious cargo.

An uproar of laughter formed a jazz ensemble in the air, occasionally off-beat, but consistently melodic. You caught your breath a lot quicker than him, clenching your stomach from the sudden pang of pain that unnaturally stretched your diaphragm. As he continued to laugh, you listened in on the musical qualities of his tone. The warmth in each hiccup gave you a small feeling of comfort as you took your mind off of Angel Eyes for a little while.

In truth, you have met Jay somewhere. You couldn’t remember if it was a large house party or a freshmen cotillion, but the realization hit you like a truck as you began to familiarize your eyes with his presence. In your memory, he was wearing a suit—so it was probably the cotillion. He didn’t attend the same university as you, but he was your brother’s junior—which meant you shared sister schools. You were drunk enough to forget his name, but conscious enough to remember what he looked like.

Now that you thought about it, a similar event such as the one you’re currently having with him unfolded in that very cotillion. Parallelism worked in wondrous ways, and you finally remembered integral pieces to the incomplete, hazy puzzle of the encounter. From the hazy cores of your memories, he threw fallen confetti at you as he screamed gibberish notions of Latin to your face. Judging by the slurs in his impromptu monologue, he was probably—most likely—heavily intoxicated. You couldn’t tell if you either played along or angrily threw confetti back at him, but the scenario was all the same.

“Huh, cute.”

“I know I am.”

Your pupils quickly widened as you snapped back into the tangible world. He currently rested his head on his palm, a shimmer in his irises formulating alongside the slight flicker of the fluorescent lights above.

A dilemma suddenly struck you as you allowed yourself to look at the time etched on your phone once more—should you tell him? There was certainly no harm in doing so, but your qualm was when. This key event would potentially turn him into a friend or something more, but the right timing was necessary. Little did he know, you enjoyed your fair share of fun, too. Hypothetically, considering this encounter and the drunken blurbs of demonic sacrifice on the balcony of a hotel, you ranked lower than him in levels of mischief.

However, that didn’t warrant you from getting back at him. After all, a good joke required the unexpected—and what better timing to tell him about your past, intoxicated meeting than right at the moment before you two part ways?

“Your boyfriend probably won’t smile like you right now if he knew you called me cute.” He started, burrowing his knuckles on his cheek. A tinge of pride was present in his speech, with a lax attitude to match.

“Boyfriend? Buddy, I’ve been single since last year,” You replied, a wave of genuine confusion entering your headspace. You titled your head to his statement, and his eyes apologetically widened.

“Oh really? I thought you kept looking at your phone because of your boyfriend or something, but I guess I was wrong,” He said, averting his gaze from you. “What’s up? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Something caught your throat, almost choking it until you run out of air. Droplets of sweat began to form right below your eyebrows. Before you opened your mouth, the automated doors breathed a low hum, letting in a cool swish of the midnight air. You jerked your head towards the glass doors, only to have your heart sink. It was your co-worker, who desperately tried to avoid eye contact with you upon seeing Jay. You were about to ask him why he was here until your eyes went to your phone.

3:30 A.M., and definitely no signs of Angel Eyes at all.

Quickly ripping your backpack open, you excused yourself from Jay, darting to the bathroom to change into your regular clothes. Before you began your Olympic-level sprint, you grabbed your phone and rushed into the small, plastic door right beside the magazine corner.

Once you locked the door, you hastily stripped your uniform off. Clad in nothing but your bra, you began to speed dial Angel Eyes’ real phone number. This was definitely a risk on your end, since she was probably working at the moment.

An unwritten rule among the folks at the red light district was to separate your identity from your work persona. This included phone numbers. God knows what would happen if someone like her had her entire identity revealed in that world—it was already bad enough that she was branded as a commodity rather than a free individual.

Her dangerous situation was made clear when mentions of her real name were avoided at all costs in your conversations with her. You knew she was from a foreign country by the strong accent in the way she spoke your native tongue, but nothing outside of what escaped her lips described her true self. Given that level of secrecy, a single slip would gravely worsen her security at the prospect of underground mobs targeting anyone in her circle of familiarity. This would include you, but at this point, you just wanted to know if she was alive.

You called her three times now, and every single attempt ended in a robotic female voice that reminded you of your futility.

“Goddamnit!” You yelled, hitting the ceramic sink in annoyance. The stinging pain that spread from the palms of your hand to the rest of your body didn’t matter anymore. You couldn’t even feel the static numbness that reverberated on impact when all you could think of was the safety of your late-night friend. It took every fiber in your body to prevent throwing your phone on the ground. Without it, you were nothing in every way. A smartphone was an essential item in modern everyday society, but at this moment, its main role was to act as your only key to Angel Eyes.

There were times when she’d show up with bruises, cuts, and, at worst, moderately severe physical trauma. It wasn’t in your place to avenge her, but it was getting harder and harder to control yourself when each injury was covered up with her chatty, beautiful smile.

Here’s the difference, though. She’d show up. Ever since your first meeting with her, she’s never failed to meet you during your shifts. Hell, you’d even spare some time to walk around with her in the vicinity of the convenience store before she had to revert to her worrisome work ethic. So for her to go off the grid for one night in the past year of a consistent rendezvous with you made your heart rate go insane.

This was probably your ninth time trying to call her, and it always ended the same way.

“Sorry, we couldn’t answer your call.”

A flurry of knocks simultaneously lined up with your loud curses.

“Are you alright?”

Quickly shouting back a typical response, you hastily threw on a crewneck sweater through your head. Being good at history had its perks. For instance, memorizing dates and their linear significance to a string of events was as easy as the alphabet for you. Unfortunately, this came with a cost. While you were great at facts, you were definitely terrible at fiction.

Ergo, you were a terrible liar. Even worse when you’re under pressure.

This meant one, single thing—you had to tell Jay. Your sudden lack of confidence and incoherent stutters would just give it all away. Taking a deep breath, you felt for the cool handles of the metal doorknob. You slung your backpack onto your shoulder, using your free hand to grip the straps tight.

“He-“

“I was gonna call your brother to call you! Jesus, you gave me a heart attack!”

You beckoned for him to follow you out of the automated doors. Before you left, you gave your co-worker a quick wave, wishing him good luck in the following hours. He returned the gesture with a curt nod, only to avert his eyes back to the cash register.

The skies were still black, giving a form of pathetic fallacy to the dire situation you pictured Angel Eyes in. The lack of bustling laughter from the izakaya next door also added to the abnormality that your gut feeling pointed to. Street lights flickered back and forth—a clear anomaly in your usual experiences with the now desolate pavement.

You shivered at the light touches of cool wind on your neck. The weather forecast on the news this morning told you the temperature was going to drop, but you didn’t know the severity of it. Your heightened senses also worsened your bout with the cold, and you slipped your arms inside your sweater. Jay stood in front of you, leaning on the wall right next to the smoking area. His eyes looked around the night sky, and his hands were fully submerged in his hoodie’s pocket.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but we might go to jail after this. Remember, you can back out at any time. This is my issue, and I’m gonna deal with it.”

Before Jay was able to respond, your phone’s ringtone jarringly disrupted the dead silence of the empty metropolis.

“Hello?”

You picked up the phone, assuming it was Angel Eyes, but the voice didn’t match at all. What you got instead was a flamboyant, male voice that was crying in distress. Now that Jay was about to know the situation you were in, you put the call on speaker.

It was difficult to decipher the caller’s qualms based on their tear-filled response. The thick, baritone stutters that plagued any forms of speech in the voice that spoke your native tongue didn’t help your case either, but the mention of your dear friend was enough for you to try your best.

“You’re Angel Eyes’ friend, aren’t you? The one from the convenience store?”

Judging by the anguish in the caller’s voice, you branded them as someone you could talk to. Switching into a slower, gentler dictation, you began to break away from the English language.

“Did anything happen to Angel Eyes?”

Jay tilted his head in confusion, eyeing you with an equal amount of bewilderment. You couldn’t tell if he understood you or not—but nonetheless, you raised your palm at him, focusing on the cries at the other end of the line.

“Sh-she”

“She?”

You heard someone else jerk the phone away from the current caller, and now you were faced with the sultry, yet reassuring, voice of a female correspondent.

“Hello? This is Angel Eyes’ friend at the convenience store, right?”

Both of you were now on edge, leaning closer to the phone.

“Yes, I am. Did anything happen to her?”

A sigh was heard from your current caller—something that raised your heart levels once more.

“Unfortunately, yes. She’s still alive, but she’s beaten up quite badly. We don’t know who her perpetrator is, so we’re guessing you could come over to get her to spit it out. She told us she only wanted to talk to you about this, so yeah. Sorry for involving you like this, but we really need it. The last thing we want is another round of gang wars in the district.”

As you inhaled, you held your hand up to Jay once more. You mouthed “later” to him, something he hesitantly took.

“Alright, is it the usual location?”

The other end of the line went silent, but the cacophony of chaos in the background gave you some sense of security that she was still on the call.

“Tell you what, I’ll meet you at the entrance to the club she works at, and I’ll take you to where we are now. It’s a short walk from where you are right now, assuming you’re still at the convenience store. No pressure on you, but please make it quick, yeah?”

There was an oxymoronic mood in her voice, as if she knew that she was doing the exact opposite to you. As the call ended, you took Jay’s hand, guiding him to the route into the city’s red-light district. Your tugs were met with a firm stance, though. His feet were glued still on the concrete pavement, eyes wide in a state of shell shock.

“What the hell is going on? Angel Eyes? A potential gang war? Club? Don’t tell me-“

There was a sudden shock in your eyes as you reevaluated your initial underestimation of his language comprehension abilities. Giving his shoulder a light slap, you began to loosen your grip on his wrist.

“I am not a sex worker, Jay. My friend, Angel Eyes is. She works at the club down Kabukicho.”

Completely letting go of his hand, you ruffled your hair in frustration.

“Something happened to her, and I need to see if she’s okay. If you don’t want to come, that’s understandable. But you have to make it quick, because I don’t have a lot of time right now.”

Your impatience wasn’t helping you in any way, and your feet began to move on their own.

“Wait for me!”

Jay jerked your shoulder towards him. Normally, this type of behavior would anger you to no end, but the only thing in your head right now was the safety of your friend.

“Will this affect my student visa?”

“Jay, I’ll cover for you if anything happens. Trust me.”

You didn’t know how you were going to do that, but your brain was too focused on the situation at hand. In addition, your aforementioned lack of skills when it came to lying definitely won’t help him once the police were involved—but your main priority right now was getting to where Angel Eyes was as fast as you can. If this meant dragging Jay along, you had no choice.

Giving his shoulder a light pat, you beckoned for him to come right next to you. He returned the gesture with a small smile, then hid his hands inside his hoodie’s pocket.

The route to the red light district was something you came to memorize through your occasional walks with Angel Eyes. Distance-wise, it was a five to seven-minute walk. It usually took a bit longer when you walked with her because her stories would take up extra time—of course, this was something you didn’t mind at all.

You’d know you were getting there once you turned right to a specific corner—which consisted of an almost magical, soft glow from the lanterns of an izakaya. The place was called “kokorozashi no fue,” and to your friend’s knowledge, it served the best chicken skewers.

You made a promise to go with her one day.

Since she’d work upwards until sunrise, her breaks were at most an hour long. Usually, the time when she’d have to go back aligned with the end of your shift, so you had a slither of time to enable walking alongside her into her little world of neon lights. Conveniently, the station was also right next to the end of the district, which gave you an excuse to stay by Angel Eyes’ side in these small ventures.

You experienced the same twists and turned to the place, but now, your companion was different.

Jay looked around, keeping his eyes busy with the closed shops. To ease your mind, you decided to engage in some small talk. It wasn’t to say you replaced Angel Eyes with him, but it was a nice way to take you off of the endless labyrinth of undesired scenarios that plagued your head.

“So, why did you choose Japan?”

A small hum was the only sound that was present in the barren roads.

“I don’t know. I really like anime and games. Plus, I also learned Japanese for the benefits of zero subtitles and a friend, so I wanted to see how good I was at it.”

“Wanna test it out?”

You now reached the exact corner that held a large, white lantern up high. Waves of relief spread across your body as your eyes began to see the Kanji characters of the izakaya.

“Koko no yakitori wa sugoku umai yo.” You said, as you pointed to the lantern right in front of you.

The casual switch from English to Japanese was natural to you, since you were raised to speak both. Although, at times, it can definitely be a handful. Some words in Japanese, such as idioms, didn’t translate well in English, and the same can be applied vice versa. Sarcasm never works in Japanese.

Jay pursed his lips in response, playing with stray hair strands that covered his forehead.

“Sounanda. Jyaa, kondo isshoni tabeyouyo.”

You gave him a small round of applause, something he returned with a dramatic forty-five-degree bow.

“Bravo, dude. You have an accent, but the grammar’s on point.”

Pretending to throw a rose at him, he caught the invisible flower mid-air.

“Thanks, man. My friend told me the exact same thing.”

A light chuckle managed to squeeze its way out of your mouth. Turning right from the lantern’s position, you now entered the world that never sleeps.

Perhaps this was why you coined the term “after dark.” Nocturnals such as yourself were an anomaly in the human population, but the citizens of the red light district were truly ghosts in a world of daytime activities. They were the ones that lurked around when the sun was up, hiding inside the basements of clubs and other licentious establishments. Once it was time for the moon to shine, these creatures of the night revealed themselves in tight, shiny dresses.

“How about you? How many languages can you speak?”

You hummed the tune of a song that played at the convenience store. The bright, pink lights of massage parlors and soap houses began to come to view, giving you an outlandish wave of relief. You considered yourself a daytime creature despite your ungodly hours at the convenience store, so normally, things like this shouldn’t excite you.

“If we’re talking about fluency, I’d say Japanese and English. In general, though, I’m adding French and Spanish to the list. My reading is better than speaking for both, but my Spanish is a lot worse than my French."

Jay’s eyes beamed under the neon signs that sometimes hurt your eyes if you stared too long. Billboards that advertised host clubs popped up, and you knew you were close by.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool! I learned Spanish for the grades, but even then, I suck absolute balls at it.”

“Same, same. Whoever told me Spanish was easy can go eat a fat dick.”

The buzzing of your phone was met with an all too familiar sign perched on the side of a road. Black marble walls came to view, with the golden glow of the words “New Grand” lighting up the alleyway it was in. The orange lights behind the tinted glass doors of the building were obscured by a tall, feminine figure.

“Name and purpose, please?” She asked strongly, towering over your frame with crossed arms. You showed the woman the message on your phone with a profuse flurry of nods.

She was built like a supermodel, with long legs revealing themselves under the slits of her skin-tight dress. The silver sequins that traced her chest shimmered like a disco ball. Her exposed décolletage was almost skeletal, with collarbones protruding out of her vital skin. Despite her figure, her face had some masculine qualities to it. For instance, her cheekbones were quite high, giving her a squared jawline. She eyed Jay with caution, checking him from head to toe.

“Angel Eyes said you’d come alone.” She warned. She held her phone like how one would hold a cigarette, suspended in mid-air with a flair of lax grandeur.

“Well, he can probably wait outside while I talk to her or something,” You hastily replied. A sly smirk slowly revealed itself on her lips. She beckoned for you two to follow her, demonstrating an industry-professional catwalk as she swayed her hips to the beat of her quick strides.

“I saw her shivering around a pile of broken glass when I checked up on the club. I work at the gay bar right in front of this one, so naturally, I’d be concerned for my girls when a fucking sofa flew out of the eighth floor right there.” She explained, once she knew that Jay was a man to be trusted. She used the tip of her phone to point up at the skyscraper. Sure enough, the pristine rows of tinted windows were disrupted by the jagged patterns of pointy, broken glass in the middle. You visibly traced the hypothetical trajectory of the chair had you seen it fly out the window. Jay did the same.

“That’s a pretty big fall for the chair.” He muttered. The shift in language from the English sentences he spoke with you a few moments back abruptly set you on edge. Circling the empty space that would’ve been where the chair fell, he gave you a puzzled look.

“Well, aren’t you a smart cookie,” She teased, crouching down to pinch Jay’s cheeks.

There was a condescending tone in her voice, but it was something you understood. Men in her world—regardless of age—weren’t men anymore. They were a product of violence and pure lust—a primitive afterimage inside the husk of human male bodies. The stories you’d often hear from Angel Eyes were enough confirmation for you to realize the animalistic tendencies of the opposite sex. It also allowed you to draw a fine line between those you considered men and those you categorized as anomalies to the linear progression of evolutionary theory. Jay was on the list of normal men, alongside your brother and those you called “friends” within your regular circle.

“Thanks, miss,” Jay replied, returning her subtle disdain with equally subtle notes of sarcasm. The woman cackled and lightly slapped his shoulder.

“You know, you’re funny. Your girlfriend here should be lucky that you can take a joke well.” She turned her head towards you, giving you a wink. Jay gave you a nudge with his elbow, followed by the suddenness of his arm over your shoulder.

“Yeah, you should be lucky that I, your wonderful boyfriend, gives you an endless supply of S-tier jokes for free.”

A sigh of frustration filled the air as you rolled your eyes until they began to hurt. He continued to wiggle his eyebrows at you, maintaining his solid hold on your shoulders.

“I kid, I kid. I know what a relationship looks like, but Angel would probably feel better if you told her you found some love.” She explained, softening her gaze as she gave the two of you a flurry of affectionate head pats. “The industry can be tough, you know? Some cheesy story about how you two met or something would probably brighten her up a little.”

The three of you stopped in front of a brick-lined building. There were two open stairways—one that led up and the other that led to the basement. In the middle of it all was a small, cube-shaped sign that had “Artsy Fartsy” written in both English and Katakana. The front of the cube was hot pink, but as you scanned its angles, you began to realize that each side held a different set of vibrant colors. She beckoned for you two to follow her downstairs.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked in English. Smooth pats were laid out on your shoulder, and you tried to match your breathing with the rhythms of his fingertips.

“Yeah. I’m just nervous. I don’t know what to expect from Angel Eyes, and I don’t think I can handle what I might hear.”

Using his thumb, he gently massaged your bicep.

“Dude, if it makes you feel better, I’m hella nervous too. It’s my first time coming this close to a place like this, and student visa aside, I can’t begin to imagine what sort of crazy shit will unfold once we hear her story.”

A burst of awkward laughter made its way out of your mouth. He slinked his hand right into yours, interlocking your fingers with his in the process. Giving the fat in your palm a light squeeze, he began to sway them with his stride softly.

“We can do this, alright? You can do this, girlfriend.”

“Yes, yes I can. We can.”

Looking back one more time to the distant image of the darkness up above, you imprinted the remnants of an outside world as you diverted your attention back to the large, brass door in front of the three of you. It wasn’t like you were going to die today, but it was a minuscule possibility. Anything can happen within the fences of the soaplands. Plus, the fact that they were mostly run by the Yakuza gave you an equal amount of lingering fear.

“Can he understand Japanese well?” The woman asked you.

“Yes, he can.”

“Alright, this is some advice for the little boy, but with looks like that, you’d want to stick to this narrative. The girls mean well, but sometimes they can be too much. Relationships are a huge turnoff for a good bulk of them, so you should be fine if you could keep it up.”

Her tone towards him was softer now, and each syllable was slightly drawn out to clearly enunciate every word that came out of her mouth. She leaned in close to Jay and you, and whispered in a hushed tone.

“It’s an added bonus too if you’re in a straight relationship.”

Before she turned the golden handles, she gave you an affirmative side hug. A motherly smile formed on her lips, her eyes almost too fragile.

“Thanks for doing this, really. It’s a sad reality that not many care about people like us, so your help means a lot. This goes to your “boyfriend,” too. You look like you don’t have a single connection to Angel Eyes, but your moral support is enough.”

“No problem, ma’am.” He replied, hands still on yours.

The other side of the brass door revealed what one might expect from a bar in a modern red-light district. LED lights of mostly a cold hue filled the spacious room, putting into picture the eternal night that folks like Angel Eyes experienced.

Your eyes quickly scanned the entire room, but there was no sign of your friend.

Panic overwhelmed you in a millisecond. Was this a trap? Is this your final moment before being sold off to a human trafficking or prostitution ring? Were you and Jay under the hands of the Yakuza? Is this the last time you’ll live your mundanity as a college kid? What will happen to Jay? Will he get sold off because he was a foreigner? You just met him, and the last thing you wanted was for him to enter a world of debauchery because you were too head-strong for your own good. How about you? Will you live the same life as Angel Eyes from now on?

His grip on your hand strengthened, with an equal amount of sweat pouring out of his palms. There was a visible shake in his eyes as his pupils widened under the flashes of purple lights.

The woman who guided you to this very bar flicked a nearby switch, turning the darkness down with the dim glow of a chandelier you just noticed.

The place itself, without the strobe lights, looked cozy enough to replicate a coffee shop’s atmosphere. Velvet seats were propped in front of lacquered tables that reflected the chandelier’s crystalline structure. A bar counter was around the corner, with soft, cushioned stools of maroon aligning itself with the length of the counter. Rows of bottled alcoholic beverages were neatly arranged behind the bartender, who was wiping a wine glass. Some bottles held a classic shape, while others were decoratively sculpted. Among these, the skull-shaped bottle on the rightmost part of the shelf caught your eye. Unlike the other bottles next to it, its surface looked like it was made of black ceramic. Its eyes were painted like a Mexican Day of the Dead mask, implying that its contents were of Spanish or Latin American origin. Tequila perhaps?

The bartender raised his head up, breaking the glass he wiped.

“Mama! I was so worried for you! You took a lot longer than I expected you to!”

You recognized his voice as the jovial and incredibly dramatic male from your call a while ago. The way he dressed, coupled with the heavy makeup on his face, implied that he was an okama, but you didn’t pry too much on other people’s sexualities.

He quickly wiped the mess he made, engulfing your impromptu guide into the world of soaplands in a large hug.

“Hey, Takeshi, let me go! This dress was expensive, you know!”

She gave the man light slaps on his forearm, and he eventually freed her with a giggle. He turned his attention to you and Jay, eyes lingering longer on the latter.

“Oh my god! You’re the darling girl that Angel Eyes won’t shut up about, right?”

He gave out a shrill, girly shriek before subjecting you to the same treatment he gave his Mama. Twirling you around in a tight embrace, he jumped back and forth in excitement. In your little spins, you got a flash of Jay exploding in laughter alongside Mama.

“And who is this handsome young man?”

A tinge of flirtation was present in his voice once he let go of you. It was your turn to hold in your laughter, biting your thumb a bit too hard as you held your stomach.

“Takeshi, he’s off-limits. He’s straight, and he’s dating that girl over there.”

“Aww, that’s too bad! Hearing Angel Eyes talk made me believe she was her girlfriend or something. But can I please have a little fun with him? He’s too cute! He looks just like a little angry bird!”

Sighs of awe filled the entirety of the bar as Takeshi pinched Jay’s cheeks, making him look like a little croaking frog. There was a visible annoyance etched on his face—something that made you haughtily laugh at him. Takeshi’s so-called Mama had to physically yank him away from the poor boy, making the whole scene in front of you look like something fresh out of a comedic skit.

“So… where’s Angel Eyes?”

Mama was now seated on one of the counters, taking a cigarette out of nowhere.

“She was here, on one of the counters. Takeshi probably let her stay in one of the rooms at the Love Ho next to ours. I think one of the girls is treating her injuries right now.”

She pointed her unlit stick upstairs.

“Takeshi, you can go with her to Angel Eyes and come back once she’s done. The boy will stay here with me. I don’t think she’d be comfortable with him in the room, so just let her do her thing alone.”

Pointing her other finger to one of the seats, she beckoned for Jay to come to where she was. Another round of whines came out of Takeshi’s lips with the new orders.

Before you followed Takeshi out of the bar, Jay rushed to you and gave you a reassuring hug.

“Remember, You can do this. I’m rooting for you,” He whispered right into your ear. His hushed voice soothed the lump that was growing inside your throat. Exhaling a choppy breath on his neck, you closed your eyes, smelling the aromatic scent of dry cleaning and detergent. You never knew, but he could be the last person that you’d see before your unrealistic, but somewhat plausible demise.

“Jay, it’s not like I’m dying, but yeah, thanks a lot,” You replied, returning the hug with a tight squeeze. He gave you a firm pat on your back, slowly letting go of you. You let the remnants of his touch linger on as a sign of good luck.

"You alright, hun?"

You and Takeshi were sitting on top of the last staircase that separated the bar from the outdoors. You curtly nodded, rubbing your upper arms to let your crewneck sweater trap more heat into your body.

Shadows of people that weren't there illustrated themselves in your vision, and you mentally traced their outlines one by one. Some of these shadows lurked behind each building, moving clandestinely like the stray cats that hid behind large trash cans. Being the factual human being that you are, you comforted yourself with logic—these were just tricks, "rapid eye movement," as they say.

Sometimes, though, the unknown didn't have or need an explanation. Phenomenons such as the shadows of the night and Angel Eyes did not require rationality for the sheer fact that there was absolutely no single way to verbally describe what was going on. Calling these shadows "ghosts" made it a lot easier than trying to find answers as to why they were there, and dismissing Angel Eyes' situation as a product of gang violence would've saved you and Jay all the time in the world.

The difference between the now rapid movement of these shadows as they danced under the light was how they weren't prostitutes. They didn't need to sell their bodies to carnivores who lived off of devouring and dominating the weak and vulnerable. They just floated about and minded their own business, serving their main role of giving humans a little fright at night.

Under the street lamps that continued to flicker about, you saw the flutter of a moth's wings.

"Must be nice to be like that, right hun?" Takeshi chimed in, holding a metal flask in front of you.

Your fingers wrapped themselves around the cool steel, breath easing in with every sip of warm alcohol.

"Yeah. For someone that's called Angel, she sure can't spread her wings."

You passed the flask back to Takeshi, who stuffed it in his pocket.

"She's really lucky she has you, you know? I remember when Mama and I started out two and a half decades ago."

Takeshi stood up and softly wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you up from your seated position.

"Mama wasn't even called Mama back then, she was known as he, and her name was Hiroto. We did drag together at a place called Paradise Lost, but they shut that down right before Hiro-chan, and I quit."

Stubby fingers pointed at an establishment opposite to where you and Takeshi stood. Metal blinds boarded up its doors, but the presence of a giant, blank sign on top of it gave you a minuscule sense of life in the now completely bare district.

"I won't say Angel Eyes has it easier, but what I can confirm to you right now is that even in our world beneath the surface of the city, violence against people like me is pretty much commonplace. That's why Mama quit once she had enough money to buy out Artsy Fartsy. She wanted to make a safe place for us, and of course, I followed along."

Takeshi was a great storyteller. So was Angel Eyes and Mama. Maybe the nature of their jobs gave them an array of experiences that sounds too strange to be true.

There was an attentiveness in the way he uttered each syllable, almost drawing out an entire picture with his descriptions. The harsh contents of his life under his intonation sounded just like a kindergarten teacher lulling her students to sleep on nap time.

"The thing about our world is that we really only have each other. It would be nice to make connections outside of what we do, but it's pretty much impossible when the entire country brands us as something illegal. That's why I'm kinda jealous that Angel Eyes met you,"

Takeshi flashed you a motherly smile, and you raised your arm to give his shoulder a firm, but soft pat.

"I mean, Mama and I get along really well, but our industry is known to be cruel. We can't get too close to each other even if we need to; it's just gonna hurt us all in the end."

You tried to find words of consolation or comfort, but your throat was stuck. How can you add insight to an industry you've never set foot in to this day, or ever? Angel Eyes' stories weren't enough for you, because even within the streets of the red-light district, they had their own separate worlds.

The building right next to Mama—or Hiro-chan—and Takeshi's bar had a flair of uncanniness to it. For its light pink finish, the bleakness of the tinted windows added a sinister touch to the overall architecture. A flickering glow from the large, cursive sign that read "Bon Perrier" plastered itself on the concave entrance, greeting the two of you with a cold welcome.

The receptionist's eyes widened upon your entrance, dropping a white, plastic phone entangled in curly cords. A large clatter from the fall disrupted the smooth bossa nova music that played on the intercom.

"Take-chan! I thought you were- "

"I'm not here for that, Fuji-chan. Lord knows I'd never find a woman attractive in that way,” Takeshi said with playful disgust. The woman called Fuji-chan also had a tinge of dramatic exaggeration in the way she spoke, wrapped in a tenor quality.

"Ara maa, is she a new face? It's quite refreshing to see someone as youthful as her around here!" You shook your head in response, dodging the hands that tried to pinch your cheeks.

"Do you know where Angel Eyes is?" You asked.

"Angel Eyes?" Fuji-chan placed the plastic handset back onto the receiver, propping an elbow on the smooth, marble table. She took out a thick, hardcover book and began scanning through her list of patrons for the night.

"Fujiko, it's the girl who came in a while ago. Heavily injured, thick Southeast Asian accent."

Humming in response, she quickly closed the book and switched to her computer.

"Ah, I see. Mariko left a few minutes ago, but I'm pretty sure she's still there. Eighth floor, room 15."

Dangling an intricate key card in front of you, a sudden sternness replaced her animated gaze.

"Be careful, though; she's a wreck right now. I don't know who did such a horrible thing, but I'm placing my money in a foreign branch here. It's bad to point fingers, but Mariko-chan and I talked about this after tending to some of her wounds." She explained. She leaned in closer, and you tiptoed to meet the eye level of the two, tall people that hovered over you.

"I think it's the Russian mafia. I'd say the Triad, but I don't know. They haven't been that active around here since two or three years ago."

"Me too. The way she was beaten doesn't look like anything the Yakuza would do either. Even they'd treat their girls with some levels of dignity."

You found yourself nodding along to the quick succession of accusations. Initially, you expected the red light district to be run by domestic gangs. If your history class taught you one thing, it's that prostitution is pretty much illegal across the world. Of course, some lucrative methods were used to exploit the loopholes, but nonetheless, the industry itself wasn't quite open compared to the soaplands you were in. Mentions of foreign criminal organizations definitely widened your perspective as you began to comprehend the global nature of the sex industry.

Once their gossip session subsided, Takeshi waved goodbye to a slowly disappearing Fuji-chan, guiding you to a hallway with three elevators.

"So… I don't mean to be such a nosy person, but how did you meet Angel Eyes?"

You tapped your feet on the cool swirls of the marble-tiled floor, tracing its abstract swirls with the tip of your shoe.

"She always bought cigarettes at the convenience store I work in. One day she came in with a black eye, so I gave her some bread, and we became friends from then."

Takeshi flashed you another warm smile as one of the elevator doors opened, revealing a scarlet interior lined with gold.

"You really are a dear, hun. Most people in your world wouldn't even bat a single eye if that ever happened. Just like how bystanders ignore a person puking their heart's content at a platform."

He sighed, gaze fixated on the carpeted floor. The accelerated levitation you felt aligned with the sudden wrenching of your stomach.

The elevator made a slight ding, opening its doors to reveal an aquatic-themed floor. The hallways were illustrated with vivid colors of fishes and corals. As you peaked into the outermost part of the hallway, you saw a semi-realistic drawing of a mermaid sitting on a rock.

Instead of the bright lights that greeted you at the entrance to the Bon Perrier, this floor was illuminated in shades of navy and turquoise.

"Well, I'll see you back down, alright?"

Engulfing you in another tight embrace, you felt the corners of his metal flask poke your chest. This time, you returned his hug with equal desperation for human touch.

He waved goodbye as you entered a blue-tinted door with the number "15" in the middle.

The dazzling shimmer of the delicate chandelier swayed with the hums of the air conditioner that blasted throughout the entire room. Jay tried to count the number of crystals on each end of the myriads of candelabra stuck on it, but lost track whenever he’d feel the daring gaze of his companion of the night.

A part of him wanted to tag along with you to the other building, but he knew it wasn’t in his place to talk to Angel Eyes. Like you told him, it was your situation, and you were the most eligible party to conduct this diplomatic venture.

Another part of him just wanted to be next to you throughout the night, as weird as that sounds.

Despite his predictions, the slender woman in front of him kept the unlit cigarette between her slender fingers. She twirled it around, reminding him of when he’d flick his pen in class.

“Worried?” She said with accented English.

Jerking his head towards the woman, he nodded.

There was a slight pause in her speech, before she decided to continue in her native tongue.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s almost closing hours for the district anyway, so I doubt anyone will hunt her down.”

She kept up her slower enunciation, in contrast to the way she spoke with you or Takeshi. Jay didn’t know whether to take offense in her consideration of his status or to thank her for being considerate.

The sheer mention of a hypothetical hunt sent shivers down his spine. It was one thing to live in a foreign country, but it was definitely another to fully experience the so-called “underworld” behind the surface.

The woman continued to play with the unlit cigarette, lightly tossing it up and down between her palm.

“You sure do like her, huh.”

“What?”

A sudden shift in the woman’s innate pessimism gave Jay several rounds of chills.

“The way you look at her. It’s almost like puppy love, I’d say.”

“What makes you think that?”

Jay has never been this defensive over anything. Sure, he’d act up whenever things were being thrown at him, but his demeanor always remained calm.

There was a childlike giddiness in her gaze as she stood up from the counter, standing where Takeshi was. Grabbing a bottle of Bacardi, she began to pour a few shots of it in a cocktail shaker.

“Hmm, you tell me.”

With a smirk etched on her face, she sliced some lime on a wooden cutting board. She took his silence as an answer, and whistled an unfamiliar tune.

“Do you want me to spell it out?”

Although her speech was slow, she retained the jovial attitude she now had. Jay kept his eyes glued to his sneakers, swaying them in the empty space of the bar counter. He could hear her turn on the faucet, and quickly looked up to her exposed back as she washed the cutting board. She continued to whistle along, stopping right as she placed the wooden board on a hidden drying rack.

“As I said, you look at her funny. Almost like she’s the only one for you. It’s cute.”

Green veins popped out of her slender hands as she squeezed some lime juice in the cool, metallic shaker. For someone as thin as her, she sure did have some amounts of muscle definition.

“I don’t think I look at her like that, though. I’m just worried. I don’t want the police to think I led her here or something.”

“Good alibi, boy, but that’s not passing through me at all. It may not be love just yet, but I know what strong attraction is when I see it.”

Jay watched her every move. He’s seen a mojito before, but he’s never known how it was made. The woman’s finger was now around a bottle of honey, pushing it up until the viscous liquid slowly poured into the cylindrical container.

“You know, the way you’re acting right now reminds me of myself back then. I was quite naive and young when I started, so a single act of kindness always managed to pull me in.”

He couldn’t catch a few words, but her emphasis on the way she said them made him infer their meaning.

As someone who considered himself a third culture kid, picking up shifts in tonalities and diction was a talent that he developed in his years of living abroad. It was also a way for him to compare the languages he knew how to speak, and what they revealed about their respective culture.

Shoveling some pre-crushed ice into the shaker, she began to demonstrate her skill.

“I used to work in the industry itself before I became the “big mama” of my own group of girls. You see, when you’re like me, love and attraction were a rarity. In such a conservative country such as this, it’s really hard to find someone out there.”

Shaking the contents of the cocktail back and forth, she diverted her gaze towards him.

“It was probably two decades ago, in the nineties, I think. I was in my early twenties, and it’s only been a few years since I’ve started. Most of my customers were only there for one night, but I did manage to have a couple of regulars.”

She placed the shaker down, preparing two tall glasses with metal straws inside. Taking a muddler, she took a leaf of mint and began performing something akin to a magic trick. Despite its small size, its scent filled his nose as she stirred the drink.

“There was one guy who always showered me with gifts. I knew what he wanted, but there was still an innocence in me that longed for him. Unlike the other customers, he made sure to ask me about the things I liked, when my birthday was, or when I’d end my shift. I really thought he was into me.”

Doing the same with the other empty glass, she used her other free hand to grab a bottle with bubbly liquid inside.

“Do you drink?”

Jay nodded, following the muddler as it stirred around.

“Okay, good. Anyway,”

A proud smile was on her face as she slid the glass of mojito towards him. He took the glass above his nose, smelling its dizzying sweetness. He’s never had a mojito before, or any cocktail for that matter. His years in America exposed him to nothing but kegs of beer and oily sausages.

From the counter, the woman began to sip her drink.

“He was married, but he treated me like a woman for once in my entire life. There wasn’t any malice in him, and he was incredibly kind. Not just for the gifts, of course. It was the little things, like how he’d open our bottle of champagne first, or how he’d always make sure I was comfortable with whatever we were about to do on certain nights.”

The cool liquid had a strong tang to it, but he soon tasted the harmonious blends of honey and lime.

“I don’t want to seem dark all too soon, but it’s basic routine for everything to go bleak in a world like mine. His wife, she found out and killed herself right after that.”

Her sips became heavier, and she opened the bottle of Bacardi to add more of its transparent liquid to her own glass.

“It was hard for me to take in—still is. I then found a letter in my boudoir from him, telling me it was my existence that made him realize what he truly was. The letter was quite long, but I read it enough times to remember every single word in it.”

Her speech returned to its usual, fast, yet somber patterns, and Jay did his best to catch whatever she said.

“It was perhaps the first time in my life where I truly felt something for someone. I did have my girls, but what they say is true; there is a difference between friendship and romance. It was just such a strong sense of longing that lingered on in me even after he stopped seeing me, and that made me realize that maybe, maybe, I was in love. The talks about family and whatnot didn’t apply to me when all they’ve ever done was force a norm in me that I knew I wasn’t a part of. So boy, you should be thankful for what you have. It’s already risky enough for her to build an amicable friendship with Angel Eyes, so I’m pretty sure both she and I wanted you to stay here for your safety.”

Her glass was now empty, and she shook the large cubes of ice that clanked with the clear surface. She threw in some broken English in her stories, giving Jay a somewhat better understanding of her experiences.

“What I’m trying to say is, you’re young. You’ll meet more people for sure, but she’s a keeper. Her dedication to making sure Angel Eyes was okay is enough for me to know how nice she is. Don’t lose her, yeah?”

An air of silence began to fill up the air, but it was comfortable to him. He didn’t feel the need to talk, and he continued to sip his drink. The flavor was a bit calmer on his taste buds now, as the large cubes of ice continued to melt in with the mojito.

Jay never believed in love at first sight. His parents would often talk about their miraculous encounter and eventual marriage, but it wasn’t enough for him to fully consider the reality of the phenomenon.

His skepticism and defensive attitude towards this entire situation should warrant an explanation, which originated in the form of his sister.

You see, his sister was a romantic. She fell in love with the neighbor’s son as soon as they moved to America, and they hit it off immediately. What she didn’t realize, though, was how he’d often sneak out to waste away his youth in clubs that reeked of hard liquor and tar.

She’s fine now, but it took her some time to recover from the shock of it all.

Not everyone exhibited the same behavior as his sister’s ex, but it did teach him to be wary.

The layers of sarcasm, juvenile humor, and troublesome antics ceased to protect him from the enigma that was you, however.

He’s not sure if he’s met you or not, but the way his tutor would talk about you built an image of the girl he’s always wanted to meet. Ambitious, calculating, yet inviting. That initial intrigue soon grew into a mild infatuation, and before he knew it, he couldn’t get his mind off of you at all.

This whole night with you turned that image into a reality, and all his guards came tumbling down.

It was quite difficult for him to grapple, since he’s always prided himself in being a “smart lover.” He never dabbled into romance too much, and he prevented the escalation of attraction into pure forms of adoration. Hell, he was the one who often joked about his friends’ failed relationships, so something like this was extremely foreign to him. Too alien, in fact.

As if the woman in front of him read his thoughts, she chuckled.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I don’t know what’s on your mind right now, but don’t take it too seriously. What comes will come, and when it goes, you gotta let go. Just go about life like that, and you’d be fine.”

He took another sip of the mojito, nodding at her every word.

“I see a lot of myself in you, you know?”

Jay tilted his head in confusion, setting the glass aside. He didn’t know if it was half-full or half-empty, but the debate can wait for later.

“In what ways?”

He was careful with his tone. He didn’t want to look insulted at the comparison.

“Oh, in many ways. You’re quite playful, and your eyes wander around a lot. It’s almost like a little bird, really.” The woman started, leaning her body on the counter with ease. She looked up at the ceiling in nostalgic wonder, taking light sips from her glass as she twirled the liquid around its circumference.

“You have a curious outlook toward anything and everything, and that’s very refreshing for once. The people that are from here who work during the day and live so-called normal lives care too much about trivial things and sticking to the norm, never even opening themselves to any form of exchange. They’re very standoffish, and I’m sure you know that as a foreigner in this country.”

Jay nodded, too aware of the countless experiences he’s had as an “inbetweener”—never foreign enough, and never enough to gain local status. Although his situation was different from the woman in front of him, he was fully aware of the parallels in the narrative.

“Yeah, I get the angry bird thing a lot,” Jay started, thinking of all the times that he spent isolated in a classroom that pretended he didn’t exist. “I don’t know. I never get tired of moving around, though. It’s a nice way for me to learn new stuff, and that’s pretty cool.”

“Oh? Where did you live prior to coming here?” She asked, curiosity widening the smoky decor of her lids. Jay slid his glass to the woman, who emptied its contents in the sink. He muttered a small apology, which she returned with an amicable smile.

“I grew up in America. Then I went back to Korea for a bit to train,” Jay started. “Not for the military by any means,” He then corrected, frantically waving his hands at the woman who kept her lax position by the bar counter.

“What I meant to say when I said training was to become a singer,” He started again. “I was gonna debut in a boy group, only to realize that it wasn’t for me. I liked the idea of being famous, but I just wanted some freedom again,”

The woman’s eyes widened as she filled her glass with auburn liquid again.

“That kinda makes sense, considering your face.” She used the muddler to draw circles in the air, with each movement aligning with his facial features. A long, sharply decorated nail etched the lines in his eyes, then traced the angles of his jaw, then led back to the curvature of his lips.

“I’ve heard that the world of entertainment can be quite harsh. Korea especially, I think.” She said. “I don’t know much about the new generation of singers there, but I remember having some customers that complained about the stupid restrictions. You guys even have a dating ban or something, right?”

Jay nodded in response, recounting the times he and his trainee friends would sneak out to meet some of the girls that attended the high school nearby.

“How did you get into a university here without a high school diploma, though?” The woman suddenly asked, shifting the conversation in the same way she shifted her position. “University in general is pretty tough unless you’re going to an arts-related school, no offense.”

“I studied for the SATs and TOEIC, and somehow got into the social science program. My major’s still undecided, though, since I had to catch up on a lot,” Jay replied, eliciting a light hum from the woman’s lips.

“Well, you have a very bright future ahead of you,” She said with a smile, getting closer to gently pat the crown of Jay’s head. “Education was a missed opportunity for me since my parents kicked me out before I could graduate high school. If I could turn back time, I might have struck up a compromise with them to attempt university.”

There was a sudden warmth in Jay that beamed with each word of advice from the woman. It was almost like in another life, they would’ve been close friends.

“Thank you. It really means a lot. I was kinda lost for a while, but I’m glad that I’ve sort of found a footing I can go with.”

“Don’t mention it, boy. I’m just doing what I feel is right. Not to say that I fully regret coming out, but living comfortably with who I am had an extreme trade-off.”

The woman excused herself and stepped out of the counter, leaving Jay alone in the empty, yet cozy interior of the bar.

You took the time to examine the keycard that Fuji-chan handed off to you. Its thin, plastic material was almost sharp enough to cut your finger if you weren't too careful. The card itself was a minimalistic design—the words "Bon Perrier" in the same cursive font were delicately typed out in a golden color, coupled with the swirls of art nouveau patterns that adorned the sides of the card.

Slipping its slim physique into the designated opening of the keyhole, a loud "click" was audible enough to fill the silent hallways with sound.

The room was almost pitch black, obscuring anything that came to view with its dark shadows. The only thing that illuminated the area was the vicinity of the open door, as the blue hues of the hallway's LED lights acted as a candescent glow in the extremely austere atmosphere of the room.

"Who's there!?"

You saw a curled, feminine form suddenly spring up into action. Shatters of glass were heard inside, and the shadows cast by the blue lights from the ajar door displayed the shadowplay of a hand holding a pointy, broken glass bottle.

Even if her voice was the exact opposite of inviting, the sheer fact that it belonged to her gave you a sense of relief.

"If you're the mafia, I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Your feet were stuck right in front of the door, and you raised your hands in surrender.

"Angel, it's me. I wanna see if you're okay, okay?"

The large shadows subsided alongside the click of a lamp. Within the dim cast of a yellow light bulb, you saw her, curled up on the king-sized bed. White duvets were stained with pools of dried blood, and her crouching figure shivered with fright.

Slowly coming inside, you shut the door behind you, making sure to hear the same click that indicated its locked state. You felt the walls as you made your way toward her, taking note of their soft, insulated texture.

Angel Eyes wasn't exactly as young as you, and the stains of black eyeliner on her cheeks revealed her true age. When she would visit you at the convenience store, any form of wrinkles would cover themselves in the flawless application of foundation and blush. Her hair was always tied up in a neat bun with a crown of Dutch braids right above her forehead—something like a medieval princess. Now, it was completely disheveled, and you began to see the frizziness that came with a continuous process of bleaching and dyeing.

She remained still, hugging the bloodstained duvet even closer to her body. The little slips revealed that she wore nothing underneath the duvet.

"Oh, it's you."

An undertone of melancholy mixed harmoniously with her usual jovial tone. She looked like she didn't want you here at all.

"Yes, it's me. Can I see your wounds?"

She hesitated, before revealing her bare torso to you. Fingers began to trace the janky stitches of thread on her body, and she flinched with every single touch you gave her.

You weren't a med student, and in no way were you qualified to treat her wounds. This was up your brother's alley, but nonetheless, you took what you knew from his incessant ramblings about human anatomy and applied it to the sight in front of you.

Before you went any further, you got up from your position and poured some bottled water into a pristine glass. She politely declined the offer, directing her hands on top of the wooden bedside drawer.

"Me not so thirsty. Girl from a while ago, Mariko gave me water."

You nodded, continuing to examine the mini-fridge. You didn't know if it was the nervousness or your addiction to coffee beginning to show its side effects, but your throat was completely dry. Eyes scanning through the neatly aligned plastic bottles in the cooler, you took out a bottle of ginger ale and gulped half of its contents in one go.

Despite her body being a bloody, injured mess, her face was untouched—save for a few, dark bruises that washed away under her thick, oxidized foundation. Her false lashes fell off her face as she roughly scratched her eyes, smudging the deteriorated linework of her eyes even further. You tilted her arm, checking for any signs of physical trauma. Sure enough, several parts of her bicep were filled with knife markings. Scabs tightly formed around the inflated area, but you could tell it was still fresh.

"I'm okay. Can still move."

The way she winced in pain as she attempted to flail her arms was almost akin to comedic timing, but there was no time for that right now.

"Angel, you're not okay. Look at you; your entire body is filled with scars!"

You asked her to turn around, and her back was perhaps the worst thing you've ever seen since binging an entire season of Hannibal. Most of the scars were haphazardly sewn with a tacky finish of black thread, but the biggest scar did not seem to cover her exposed muscle fibers. There was some blood gushing out of the opening of the wound, oozing in thick, bright red hues.

Your quick feet left the bed and entered the large bathroom, taking a bathrobe, a comb, and a few towels.

"Did Mr. Chen do this to you?" You asked, handing the bathrobe to her. She shook her head, eyes still on the duvet.

She shook her head. Helping her out of the covers, you gently held her arm, which was like glass between your fingers. You combed her long hair out of the way, and slipped one sleeve into her wounded arm. She did the other side, and loosely tied the bathrobe with what little strength she had in her.

You took a remote from the bedside drawer, turning the entire room's light system up. The clear brightness made her shriek as she buried her head in your shoulder.

"Turn down! Turn down!"

At her request, you slightly dimmed the room down, making sure to leave just enough light for you to further examine her wounds.

Lights pats began to carefully avoid the scars on her back. Her breath hitched with each touch.

"It's okay now Angel, I'm here, alright?"

Your hand traveled to her damp, frizzy scalp. You felt her nod as you patted her head. Small, skinny arms laced around your waist, pulling you closer. The movement made her wince in pain.

Taking the comb from the bedside, you started smoothening out the entangled mess of her disheveled bun. She turned around, giving you access to the entire length of her hair. Taking a hair tie from her wrist, she placed it right behind her, arms disabling her to raise them high.

"It was a foreigner."

"Hmm?"

The comb snapped in half amidst one of the larger clumps of hair, prompting you to use your fingers. Starting at her scalp, you massaged the sides of her temples.

"Foreigner beat me up. American, I think. He white man. Told me I scam him because period start. I bleed during sex he got mad. Took my wallet, took my bag, took my phone. He said he go to police. He said he arrest me. He said I go to jail."

She closed her eyes, letting your fingers ease themselves between her hair.

"Do you know what he looks like?"

You had to be careful with asking for too much at once. It was enough at is it that she allowed you to come this close to her in such a state.

"Kinda fat. Bald. Blue eyes. Big nose."

Humming as she began to describe his looks, you pictured several men of that stature in your head. Burning a few of the descriptions in your head, you took out your phone and quickly typed it all out.

"Do you know his name?"

She shook her head.

"No name. Bad for business if you tell real name. Reservation name I know, not real."

"Can you tell me his reservation name, then?"

She pointed to the bedside drawer, and you telepathically opened it. Taking out a notepad and some paper, she jotted down the last name of the perpetrator.

"Don't know correct spelling or not, but it look like that on booking."

You thanked her, neatly folding the paper and stuffing it in your jean pocket. You'll probably hand it off to Mama or Takeshi once you went back down.

"Can you stand up?"

Angel Eyes shook her head. She asked you for one of the pillows on the couch, and you jogged towards it, swiftly tossing it to her.

"Leg okay but arm no. Him not so good at punch, so he got knife and stab stab around. Can walk, but tired."

Slowly retracting her body from her seated state, she hugged the pillow tight.

You sat by the bed, slowly watching her fall in and out of sleep. Taking your hand, you continued to comb through her hair, giving gentle touches that carefully prodded away from the bruises on her face. Some of them were ones you've seen back at the convenience store that were slowly healing up, but most were fresh.

Taking a deep breath, you tenderly engulfed her in an embrace, avoiding too much pressure on her back. Her shaky breaths stabilized into deep patterns of inhalation and exhalation, giving you the cue to get up.

"Thank you, Angel, really. You've gone through enough. I'll see you at the store when you're better, yeah?"

Using the remote, you dimmed down all the lights back to the way it was when you entered. The last thing you saw before you closed the door was Angel Eyes clutching the pillow tight, chest rising and falling into a deep sleep.

Waving a quick goodbye to both Takeshi and Mama, you were now side by side with Jay, exiting the red light district. The once dark skies brightened up into a luminous fusion of violets, blues, and orange in unison with the white, circular sun rising up from its slumber.

The streets looked contrastingly different from what it was a few moments before—the shadows that lurked around dissipated into thin air, leaving remnants of afterimages that floated with the sun’s rays. The roads flashed with the vivid hues of taxi cabs that finished their nightly routine, carrying invisible passengers in their seats. The white silence of the “after dark” hours was now replaced with various noises that performed their daily orchestra of noise; the pigeons fluttered their wings in the sky, perched atop electricity towers; the once barren pavements still lacked human presence, but reclaimed their mundanity in the times between dawn and morning; laughter ceased into complete silence as the izakayas turned their lanterns off, boarding their blinds up in the process; the convenience store lost its glow in the dark, night sky—replaced with a serenity that invited daytime patrons into its automated doors of glass.

This was the signal for the end of “after dark” hours to you, and you’d say it was as equally intriguing as the former.

Jay pointed at a 7-Eleven in the station, and you followed him in. The convenience store you worked at was a different chain, but who’s to say you needed to uphold brand loyalty?

“Dude, I could totally use another red bull right now.”

You nodded, darting toward the continuous rows of beverages behind a cool, glass door. Picking up two cans of coffee, you waited for him to jog towards you to give him his can.

“How are you not tired?” He exclaimed, gulping all the coffee down in one go. He then dug into his backpack for a nearly empty bottle of honey, squeezing what he could out of it in his coffee. You contemplated telling him the story about Mr. Honey from your brother, but opted to hold your tongue. There were many secrets spilled that night, and you decided to keep the tale for another day.

“I don’t know. I work the midnight shift, man. I’m used to it,” You replied, twirling the can of coffee in your hands as you watched the sunrise.

Jay took his phone out of his pocket and checks the time: 5:07 A.M. There were a few notifications in the periods of dormancy, but he chucked it back in.

“I don’t think I can go to class like this. I’m too tired and I can’t show up wearing what I wore yesterday.”

You stilled a burst of laughter, twirling the cans of coffee between your hands again. Its metallic clank buried itself under the radio-friendly pop songs that played in the intercom.

“Dumbass, it’s Sunday. We don’t have class.”

Jay’s eyes widened in response. The shock was a nice substitute for caffeine, after all. To check if you were correct, he fished his phone out again, checking the time and date on his lock screen.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Mimicking the same tone he used back at the bar, you pointed at the girl on his screen.

“Dude, if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be here with you by now.” He replied, mocking your tone with an exaggerated impression of his own. “Also, incest is gross. That’s like if I asked you if your brother was your boyfriend.”

The casual nature of his remark prompted your cheeks to redden. Jay took note of this and mentally thanked the woman at the bar who served him a mojito for her encouragement.

Following him to the snack aisle, he began to choose food in an array of bright, packaged airbags.

“Did you know, this country has the least air-to-chips ratio? Like, I remember back in America, where most of their chips had more air than actual potato chips. It was kinda sad, but hey, at least it’s not as bad as Lays. They have the worst ratio when it comes to this.”

In perfect unison, he pointed at the green bag of Lays sour cream. You nodded in agreement, eyeing the rows of chocolates that tempted you to buy out the entire section.

“Are you gonna be some sort of chip scientist? Spending years of study until you perfect the exact ratio between blank air and crispy, fried potatoes?”

He snorted at your response, coughing his throat in the process. He took a bag of Calbee’s classic Nori Shio chips, presenting them to you with a dramatic flair. Replicating his little act, you took a box of chocolate-covered almonds, swishing them around in circles.

“If the pay’s good, I might as well do it, but that’s only if you’ll be my assistant. I need a professional part-time convenience store worker who touched enough bags of potato chips to give me the information I need.”

You tapped on the surface of the box, tracing the alphabets etched on it. Positioning the box towards your cheek, you attempted to hide the growing shades of pink that dusted its surface.

“I’d join you in your venture of scientific discovery, but my love for chocolate almonds won me over. The more important question here is determining the perfect chocolate-to-almond ratio inside these babies.”

Shaking the white and red container, your eyes met Jay’s brown irises. The warm smile that you’ve grown accustomed to was present on his lips, and his eyes turned up into little crescents. You took the box further onto your face, covering it entirely.

“Bro, I don’t wanna see almonds. I wanna see your face.”

He grazed his fingers on top of your hand, gently taking the box down to your sides. There was a bright, doe-like nature in his pupils that you didn’t seem to notice under the chandelier of the bar.

His hand lingered, firmly holding yours. He held your hand a couple of moments ago, but something about this one felt different. It wasn’t the supportive squeezes he gave you before you checked up on Angel Eyes, and it definitely wasn’t the forceful tugs you subjected him to before you met Mama and Takeshi.

It was familiar, but it felt very new.

Remnants of the fleeting moment bore into the muscle memory of your hand as he let go.

“We should probably pay up. We’re blocking the aisle.”

Timidly nodding along, the two of you walked together to the cashier. He offered to pay for your items—something you didn’t expect from someone like him. You did try to protest, telling him you were earning “cash money” through your job, but he insisted.

“La la la can’t hear you. What’s that? Did you mean to say, Oh my Prince Charming Jay, please pay for my much-needed coffee and almonds!?”

You elbowed him, feeling sorry for the cashier that had to deal with you two.

Stuffing the bagged goods in your respective backpacks, you made your way to the ticket gate. Jay tried to read the kanji characters in Japanese, but gave up halfway through.

“I don’t get how Japanese people work. You take Chinese characters and completely fuck it all up in every single way. Plus, you have hiragana before and after the characters. If you’re gonna use Chinese characters, just use it as it is.” He complained, throwing a middle finger at one of the signs.

“Even I’m confused most of the time. Like, there are so many ways to read some of the characters, and sometimes different characters sound the same.” You replied, sharing the same sentiment. “Writing is also a different story, since my handwriting is absolute ass.”

Laughing in agreement, he slung his backpack strap tighter toward his shoulder. A deep sigh escaped his lips, as if he woke up from a good dream. You tilted your head towards him, tracing his jawline.

“Man, that was a crazy night. The only thing I planned out was to meet you during your shift and ask for your number, but I didn’t know I’d be caught up in some type of underground violence.”

Your mind thought of his sentence a little longer, like a piece of bait pierced on a metal fish hook. It was one of the crazier nights for you, too— but nothing prepared you for the sudden anomaly that was Jay. Even if your year-long experience of scanning barcodes from nightly patrons prepared you for something like this, it wasn’t like they openly made you feel like a giddy high schooler again.

“Who knew your quest for pussy would lead you into a rabbit hole of gay bars and soaplands galore, right?”

Patterns of panting began to form on your lips as you reached the top of the platform. Jay patted your back, hitting it with a bit of force later on.

From where you were, the whole city came to view. On the horizon, the skies turned into a visible shade of marmalade, losing their cool tones. The array of skyscrapers asymmetrically obscured the bright sun, forming geometrical, yet abstract shadows that loomed over the entire area. The once empty pedestrian lanes started to crowd with dots of people that rapidly moved from place to place. Jay pointed to the large, red sign that indicated the entrance to the red-light district. Underneath the sun, the place lost its vivacity.

“I wouldn’t exactly say a quest for pussy, but more like a quest to see and talk to you again. And again. And probably again.”

A box-shaped grin formed on his lips as he wiggled his eyebrows in rapid succession. You took your backpack and hit his shoulder with it.

“Stop being cheesy, please. It’s bad for my health.”

“You’re bad for my health.”

You continued to bombard him with a flurry of soft hits, until both of you ended up in a hunched position, stifling any kind of laughter that tried to leave your lungs.

“No, but seriously I wanna do this again—preferably without the whole sketchy alleyway stuff,” He said, eyes glued to the soles of his sneakers. You giggled in response, snapping your fingers in front of him to grab his attention. Your eyes meet, and you smiled at him. He returned it with his trademark grin.

This was a sight you could definitely get used to in your midnight shift.

“Well, you know where the convenience store is.”

A robotic female voice announced the incoming arrival of your train back home, disrupting the uninterrupted eye contact you shared with each other. You pointed to the platform and tilted your head in question. He shook his head in response.

“I’m that way.”

He used his thumb to point behind him. As you heard the train tracks’ guttural, janky clanks, you slightly grabbed his hand. Glancing back to your own platform, you began to see the train’s head rushing into the station.

“Oh, and by the way,”

“Hmm?”

You leaned into his ear and felt him slightly shiver at the proximity.

“Freshmen cotillion. You were drunk as fuck. The suit was kinda hot, though.”

The doors to your train opened, and you ran inside right before they closed. Through the glass window, you vigorously waved your arm, being mindful of the passengers around you.

The last thing you saw before your train left the station was Jay’s wide eyes, coupled with a flurry of texts that barraged your phone afterward.

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