Wilbur sat at the dimly lit bar, swirling the whiskey in his glass as the faint hum of conversation and music surrounded him. The place was packed, but he barely noticed. He smirked as he took a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol chasing away the sting of her absence, at least for a moment.

“Plenty of fish in the sea, right?” he muttered to no one in particular, his eyes scanning the crowd. A few girls had already sent glances his way, but none of them mattered. Not really. He leaned back in his chair, feigning a confidence that felt paper-thin tonight.

“She always wanted more,” he continued, talking to his drink like it was an old friend. “Wanted me to ‘get serious.’” He chuckled, but the sound came out rough, bitter. “Told her I’m not that guy. Never have been. She knew what this was.”

Another sip, another half-hearted glance around the room. He could find someone to fill the space she left—he had plenty of times before. It wasn’t hard. But as he drained his glass and motioned for another, the weight in his chest refused to lift.

“She’s probably better off,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the door as if expecting her to walk through it. “Doesn’t mean I need her.”

The bartender slid another drink in front of him, and Wilbur downed it almost immediately. “I’m fine,” he told himself again, though the words sounded emptier every time he said them. The crowd buzzed around him, but all he could feel was the space she used to fill.