#trdeobi

The glass slips from Hitomi’s fingers and barely misses shattering, caught just in time by her own reflexes. Whiskey sloshes over the rim anyway, staining the marble counter. Her phone buzzes again. And again.

She doesn’t need to open Twitter anymore. She already knows what’s there.

The bar in downtown LA is loud—too loud—but everything feels muted, like she’s underwater. Neon lights blur. Laughter feels distant. Her thumb scrolls despite herself.

A picture loads. Junmin’s profile. A familiar shoulder beside him. Nako’s hair, unmistakable.

Hitomi laughs. It comes out wrong—sharp, broken, almost hysterical.

– Of course, – she mutters, lifting the glass again. – Of course it’s her.–

She drinks too fast. The burn is welcome. It hurts in a way that feels deserved.

Across the bar, Jake freezes.

He’s been pretending not to watch her for the last twenty minutes, pretending he’s focused on his camera bag at his feet, on the half-finished beer in his hand, on anything but the way Hitomi’s shoulders keep curling inward like she’s trying to disappear.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Jake exhales slowly, jaw tight. He looks back at her just as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, annoyed at herself more than anything.

That’s enough.

He stands.

–Hey,– Jake says gently, stopping beside her stool. – You okay?

Hitomi squints up at him, eyes unfocused, then breaks into a crooked smile. –Jake,– she says, like the name tastes strange. –You’re… you’re here.

–Yeah,– he answers. – I'm here.

She laughs again, softer this time. –That’s funny. Everyone’s always here except the people who should be.

Jake doesn’t respond. He signals the bartender quietly and nudges the glass away from her hand.

–I think you’ve had enough, –he says.

She pouts immediately. –You sound like my manager.

–I’ll take that as an insult.

That earns a weak snort. She lets him move the drink.

Silence stretches. Not awkward, just heavy.

Her phone lights up again. Jake sees the reflection of blue light in her eyes before she turns the screen face-down, hard.

–They hate me,– she says suddenly.

Jake frowns. –Who?

–Everyone.– Her voice wobbles. –No, actually, that’s not true. They love me. They just… love tearing me apart more.

Her lips tremble despite her effort to stay composed. She presses them together, stubborn.

Jake steps closer, lowering his voice. –Hitomi… do you want to sit somewhere quieter?

She studies him like she’s trying to place him in a memory that won’t fully surface. –You’re my photographer,– she says slowly. Then, with a frown, –Right?

He nods. –Yeah.

–Okay,– she decides. –Then you’re paid to deal with this.

He almost smiles.

They end up outside, sitting on the curb where the noise dulls into a distant hum. The night air is cooler, sobering her just enough to make everything sharper.

Hitomi hugs her knees to her chest. For a long moment, she says nothing.

Then it spills out.

– I trusted them,– she whispers. –Out of everyone. He cheats me with the girl he swore he hated

Jake listens. He always does. He doesn’t interrupt when her words tangle, when anger turns into humiliation, when love turns into something uglier. He hands her water. Keeps her steady when she sways. Lets her cry without pretending it’s not happening.

–I keep thinking if I just… ignore it, it’ll stop hurting,– she says, voice hoarse. –But it doesn’t.

–No,– Jake says quietly. – It doesn’t.

She leans into him without realizing it, forehead pressing against his shoulder. He stiffens for half a second, then relaxes, one arm coming up around her instinctively.

She smells like alcohol and perfume and something familiar he can’t name.

–You’re nice,– she murmurs. –Too nice, like a good boy

He swallows. – You deserve that.

She scoffs weakly. –You don’t even know me.

Jake looks down at her, heart aching in a way he’s known since he was a boy.

–I know enough,–he says.

Hitomi doesn’t hear the weight behind it. Her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion finally winning.

Jake stays like that, holding her together while she falls apart, the city glowing around them—quiet witness to a drunk girl and a good boy who never once thought of leaving.

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