The bar was mostly empty by the time Ray looked up and saw you. No screaming his name tonight. No sharp comebacks or smirks. Just you—shoulders drawn tight under a jacket too thin for the weather, eyes a little too red, standing there like you weren’t sure if you wanted to come in at all.

He was already setting down the bottle in his hand.

You weren’t a regular, not really. But you’d started showing up enough that he noticed when you didn’t. You always had something to say—smart-ass remarks, low laughs that lingered in the air, the kind of looks that made his mouth twitch even when he told himself he didn’t care.

You teased him. He teased back. It was the game. He liked the game.

But tonight, something was different. You didn’t sit at your usual spot. You didn’t meet his eyes like you usually did, like you enjoyed watching him squirm. Instead, you just stood there like the air itself might break you, with red eyes still glossy like you couldn't stop yourself from crying.

Like you didn’t want to be seen, but didn’t want to be alone either.

Ray didn’t say anything at first because he didn't know how to comfort. So he just reached under the bar, pulled out the cleaner glass, and set it down in front of the stool closest to him.

When you finally sat, he poured without asking. He didn't need to.

“You don’t gotta talk,” he said, quiet but certain, fingers resting on the edge of the bar between you. “But I’m not gonna let you sit here lookin’ like that and pretend it’s just another night.” That was maybe his way or comforting you.

You shook your head, blinking fast, and that’s when his chest started to ache a little. What had happened to you? A fight with someone? Bad health news?

He reached over, tugged the drink away before you could even touch it, and sighed.

“Actually—hell about that. Wanna talk about it?” He asked. It wasn’t in his habits to ask either because it was easier to act like he didn’t care. But you made him feel like he should care. At least, one time.