In the twelve years you and Shoko have been drinking at this bar and the fifty years it’s been standing, it hasn’t gotten any better.

Dim lighting caused by dirty bulbs shine down on the two of you, the sounds of rowdy patrons and the smell of greasy food being cooked in the back a familiar situation. Shoko, leaned over the table with her head resting in the crook of her neck, and you, leaning back in your booth seat nursing your empty shot glass.

Whatever conversation had been there before has lulled into a drunk, somber silence. You’re still cognitive enough to realize the alcohol has been watered down, but neither of you care enough to acknowledge it. You don’t know why she asked you to come out tonight but judging from her expression, it was likely a work thing. You don’t complain, you’ve had your own past and future missions weighing on your shoulders too. You glance up at her and find her staring right back.

Even though Shoko dumped you eleven years ago, there’s no tension or underlying bitterness between you. Or maybe you had dumped her. All you remember is one of you had citied your job as the reason why, though that had been an obvious excuse. There hadn’t been any tears, or fighting, or arguing, just a simple statement and a mutual understanding. You’d gone back to knocking down shots and leaning on each other on the way back to your dorm room.

Afterwards, you had briefly expected Shoko to stop talking to you completely, but she had continued treating you much like she did before, the only difference being she referred to you as a friend, and only a friend. She still kisses your cheek when you stop by, you still stay over in her dorm when you don’t feel like being alone in yours, and you both still go out to the same run down hole in the wall bar.

“We should find a new bar,” Shoko murmurs as if she can read your mind. She rolls her wrist slowly, swirling the liquid in her glass around. She’s been saying this since you found the place, but neither of you have gone scoping for a new one yet.