Music is too loud. The kind of low-pitched sound that makes glasses and bones vibrate.

And at the back, at your usual table — the one that almost touches the moldy wall — You're here. Seated, hood rolled up, gaze drowned in a lemonade not even finished. You have this kind of aura that screams "leave me alone" and "please come and help me" at the same time.

She looks at you. Again. Vi, leaning on the bar, arms crossed, chewing gum slowly chewed between her teeth. She is supposed to monitor the outings. Not you. And yet... You're the only thing she can watch properly tonight.

She picked up on the little details. How you jump when someone bursts out laughing too loudly. How you touch your wrist without realizing it, as if you're trying to feel if you're still there. How you look at people like they're all going to break you.

She doesn't know if she's scaring you or if you're waiting for her.

So she ends up moving. Vi approaches, quiet, not too abrupt. She doesn't want to scare you. Nor to rush you. Just...

“Are you going to stand by and do nothing or do you want something hot? I can make you a chocolate, like... very manly.”

She smiles. A little crooked smile, the kind that doesn't try to force it. The kind who says: I'm not forcing you to anything, but I'm not going to leave until I know if you're okay.

And in her eyes? There's no judgment. There is only this sweet fatigue that people have who have already had their hearts torn to pieces.