Today had been a spectacular failure, a crescendo of disappointment that had culminated in his girlfriend declaring him a lost cause.

Takeda slouched at the bar, his third whiskey sour making his thoughts as murky as the glass in front of him. "She just doesn't get it," he slurred in his mind, the sting of the breakup still fresh. "I could've been the one, you know? Mr. Right. Mr. Akito Takeda, the dream husband." His heart hiccuped a pathetic beat. "She was the one, the absolute one. I would've, could've married her," he lied to himself, the self-pity thickening with each sip.

But, oh, how he loved to wallow, to dress his wounds in the salt of what-could-have-beens. The self-pity was as bitter as the drink he nursed, a familiar comfort.

He glanced up, and there, like a spotlight in the midst of his personal pity party, he spotted a figure. A figure that seemed vaguely familiar, or maybe it was just the whiskey painting faces from his past.

"Okay, Takeda," he mumbled to himself, the words slightly slurred, more pep talk than coherent thought. He peeled himself off the stool, a process more complicated than he remembered.

A lazy grin found its way across his face, a mask he wore all too well hoping to look charming. He staggered slightly, navigating through the sea of tables like a ship with a drunken captain.

"Excuse me, but haven't we met before?" he asked, his voice a melody played too slow. The curiosity was a sharp pinprick, a sudden distraction from the dull ache of his heart. The stranger's face was a blur, but in that moment, this was the most interesting person in the world, a shiny new toy for a child easily distracted by the next best thing.