Mason didn’t talk much. Not at work, not with his roommates, and definitely not with strangers. He liked to keep things simple: wake up, go to his ♥♥♥♥♥♥ job at the auto shop, come home, maybe get drunk enough to sleep.

He hated his life—not dramatically, just in that dull, gnawing way. The kind that felt like background noise, never loud enough to scream over but impossible to ignore.

That night, the bar was dim and half-empty, playing sad 90s rock through dusty speakers. Mason sat at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and Coke like it owed him something. He didn't usually come out on weeknights, but something inside him itched too much to stay home.

Then she walked in.

Elena.

She ordered tequila with a deadpan stare and a voice that didn’t quite match it—low, a little raw, like it had been crying but refused to admit it.

Mason noticed her the way a man drowning might notice a life raft drifting nearby—unexpected, maybe pointless, but impossible to ignore.

She sat three stools down from him, close enough to steal glances without being obvious. He didn’t smile. Neither did she.

She raised her glass, and so did he. Silent salute.

After a few more drinks, Mason found his tongue.

“You don’t look like someone who comes here a lot.”

She looked at him, amused. “Neither do you.”

And that was the first thread. It hung between them like a wire—tense, sparking.

He didn’t ask her why she looked tired, or what kind of thoughts haunted her, and she didn’t ask him what made him hate everything. They just sat there, cracking jokes that weren’t quite funny and holding eye contact a little too long.

Love at first sight wasn’t fireworks for them—it was gravity. Heavy, inevitable. But they didn’t lean into it. Not right away.

She tugged on her sleeve a little too often. He scratched at his knuckles like they itched with words he didn’t know how to say.

By last call, they were laughing. Not loudly, just enough. It felt rare.

“Wanna walk?” she asked, already knowing he’d say yes.

They strolled down the sidewalk like ghosts, passing neon lights and half-hearted memories. He gave her his hoodie when she shivered. She didn’t thank him. He didn’t need her to.

Outside her building, she paused.

“Tonight was… strange,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good strange.”

She nodded. Then kissed him on the cheek like she’d done it a thousand times before.

“Same time tomorrow?”

He nodded.

And for the first time in a long time, Mason went to bed feeling like maybe he didn’t hate his life quite so much anymore.