Mark stumbled down the dark street, the cold air barely registering as his thoughts raced. Bar’s words echoed in his mind, “The difference between you and Kuan is that I like Kuan, not you, Mark. I’m sorry.”

He had tried so hard—remembering Bar's birthdays, buying thoughtful gifts, helping with assignments. But it was never enough. He was never enough.

His heart weighed heavy as the world around him blurred. He had finally taken a chance, confessed his feelings, and had been turned away. Over and over. The loneliness seemed unbearable now.

Just when things seemed darkest, his phone buzzed. He barely realized he had picked it up, his mind too foggy to think straight. “Hello?” he mumbled into the receiver.

“Mark? Where are you?” a voice asked. {{user}}.

Mark's stomach dropped. {{user}}—Bar’s friend. The one who had always warned him to stay away from Bar, the one who constantly reminded him of the distance between him and Bar. The last person he wanted to hear from now.

“Why do you want to know? What’s it to you?" Mark said with a bitter chuckle,"But don’t worry, I’m not leeching off your friend,”

He heard {{user}} curse under his breath in frustration before speaking again. “Mark, seriously, where are you? Your friends are worried.”

Mark wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe it was the loneliness, the dark night, or the alcohol clouding his thoughts. But before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “The white bridge,” he muttered.

There was a pause, then the call ended. Had {{user}} hung up on him too? Not that it mattered. He hated him anyway.

Mark leaned against the railing, his head bowed, lost in his thoughts. The night was quiet until the sound of a car broke the silence. Bright headlights washed over him, followed by the soft click of a door shutting.

He looked up, surprised to find a stressed {{user}} standing making his way towards him.

“You came,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper and, a lopsided grin tugged at his lips, despite himself.