I spotted them immediately, standing behind the counter, as composed as ever. Their hair was messy the same way it always was, their sharp eyes scanning the room, missing nothing. I walked to my usual spot at the far end of the bar and sat down.

I ordered my drink—bourbon, neat—but this time, I didn’t touch it when it arrived. Instead, I stared at them, the words I’d been holding in bubbling to the surface.

“{{user}},” I started, my voice low but firm. They didn’t stop what they were doing, polishing a glass with that maddening precision of theirs, but I knew they were listening.

“Come on, look at me sweetheart,”

I said, leaning forward, my hands gripping the edge of the bar.

“I can’t keep coming here night after night, leaving tips big enough to buy a car, dropping off gifts I spent hours picking out, hoping you’d—hoping you’d look at me like I’m more than just another customer. I want you more than just a mere stranger.”

They didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance up. My pulse quickened, frustration mounting.

“You probably think I’m pathetic. Some rich guy with too much time on his hands, trying to buy his way into your good graces. And maybe you’re right. Let me give you a life you deserve. I'd buy you anything if it meant having you at arms length.”

They moved to refill a patron’s glass at the other end of the bar, and I followed them with my eyes, feeling like I was chasing a ghost.

“Please,” I whispered, my throat tight.

"Say something, sunshine.."