I stepped into the dimly lit alley, my hoodie pulled tight and the realistic wolf mask heavy against my face. The city swallowed the sound of my footsteps. Ahead of me, two thieves were already fighting—shoving, cursing, desperate hands clawing at each other in the half-light.
They didn't notice me. I crossed the alley without a sound, like something the world itself had decided to ignore.
They were face to face, fists knotted in each other's shirts. I stayed low in the shadows and moved fast. I swept one man's feet out from under him. The other held on too long—his grip dragged him down too, both of them crashing hard onto the concrete.
I leapt backward into the darkness again. When they scrambled to their feet, they looked around in confusion, their meaningless fight forgotten.
"You foolish goblins," I said, my voice muffled behind the mask. "Let this be a warning to you both. Leave the people of this city out of your—"
A memory slammed into my head like a gunshot.
This was why I was here—because they messed with a girl I used to be 'with'.
But… What am I doing?
I'm not a vigilante. I don't even care if I live. So what's the point?
If I'm going to run myself to hell, I'd rather do it without the thought of her.
I stepped out of the darkness, my hands tucked into the pockets of my black sweat pants.
"Get out of here," I said. "Before I stomp you out."
I lunged as if to scare them. As the thieves stared at me. They struggled to their feet for a second or two, flailing like fish out of water, before finally turning and running.
I'd been doing this exhausting crap for over two months after the breakup. I was still broke. No job. Barely any money.
The only thing that kept me going by was taking on personal vendetta jobs out of a run-down building near where I lived. It was where people left requests—for someone to beat people up, get stolen stuff back, or handle whatever their lazy asses didn't want to deal with themselves.
Calling it a job felt like a joke. I'd only been paid once—four hundred dollars, which wasn't much at all.
I pulled the wolf mask off, the faux fur brushing my face and making my skin itch.
"I'll actually look for a real job tomorrow," I muttered. "I don't care about living, but I'd at least like to die in a mediocre way. And that doesn't happen without a job."
I made my way out of the alley. My place wasn't far, but it was already midnight, which meant I needed to move before the real weirdos came out.
As I walked along the sidewalk, an idea surfaced—one that almost sounded responsible.
I'd take out a loan for a grand, buy myself a suit, then spend the day applying to as many jobs as I could.
"I guess I'll head to the bank," I said to no one.
Nothing feels real at night. It's like the world turns into an extension of our dreams—something softer, separate, almost unreal. That's part of why I've stayed up so late since my teenage years.
At night, time feels like it belongs to me. School, my problems, my life—everything slows down. And for a little while, that illusion of control makes me feel all powerful.
I finally reached the bank. Light spilled through the front windows, illuminating the sidewalk from how bright it was inside. I took my hands out of my pockets, careful not to look suspicious. I wasn't here to do anything wrong—just get a loan and leave.
I walked up to the bank's doors. Only a few people were inside. One of them was her friend.
I sighed, then went in anyway. As the door closed behind me, I pulled my hood down, forcing myself to be seen.
She lifted her head from her phone and glanced up. Only then did I really notice her. She was chubby, but well-shaped, with eyes that pierced and softened at the same time. A small freckle sat beside one of them. Her straight brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
"That hairstyle looks really good," I muttered, quietly, just as she looked back down at her phone.
If only I had the guts to shoot my shot. The only reason I ever got a chance with the last girl was pure luck. But I wasn't letting that happen ever again—never letting someone have that kind of hold over me.
Whenever someone does something and I feel it hits me too hard, it feels like they're controlling me. Like I've handed them something sharp and trusted them not to use it. So I don't. I keep my distance. I shut it down before it gets a chance to grow.
Turning off my heart feels like the safest way to stay in control.
If only it were that easy. I have a habit of letting my emotions slip, even when I know better. I stepped into the line of people waiting to speak with the clerk.
Only five people ahead of me.
I glanced to my left—and there she was. She wore one of those I don't care outfits, the kind that shouldn't work but somehow did. She still pulled it off. She still looked incredible.
"Alright, everyone," the clerk called out. "If you're already inside, you're the last we're taking tonight. If you're in line, feel free to sit down and wait."
Now came the hard part—figuring out where to sit. On the left was, well… you know who. On the right, there was a guy who looked pretty chill, around my age. Those were the only two people that really registered. Everyone else felt like they were on another plane of existence.
I didn't have the guts to shoot my shot, so I went with the safer option and headed to the right. I slid my hands back into my jacket pockets and walked toward the seat.
As I sat down, the cold plastic seat jolted me awake a little. I leaned back and glanced toward the girl—then my phone buzzed.
That was strange.
I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.
My lock screen lit up, revealing one of my favorite manga panels—a main character lying in the grass, arm stretched toward the sky. It always felt symbolic somehow. Like reaching for something you didn't quite believe you deserved. It inspired me.
Then the notification came through.
—Instagram—
calipso: *aren't u ****'s last fling?
I looked up. She was staring at me.
Cali—that's what I knew her as. Her dark, doe-like eyes held mine, silently daring me to respond. For a second, the noise of the bank faded out.
Here I was again.
Make a move, I told myself. She texted first—just do it. No shame in the game.
That's what I would say—if I hadn't worked so hard to ascend.
Like I said before, my last relationship was pure luck. I wasn't even good-looking enough to attract someone at her level. I knew that. She knew it too, even if she never said it out loud.
So I pushed myself. I fixed what I could. I made myself better—stronger, sharper, more present—until we felt equal. And somewhere along the way, I didn't just catch up.
I passed her.
Every time I looked in a mirror, I couldn't help myself. Maybe that makes me a bit of a narcissist—but you can't really blame me. When your looks feel like they held your life back, and you claw your way into something better through sheer effort, it changes how you see yourself.
It's like finishing a drawing you poured everything into. When it's finally done, you can't help but stare at it for a while—proud of what it took to make it real.
Ding. Another notification hit. I looked away from her.
I wasn't falling for this. My shoes scraped softly against the floor as I pushed myself up from the seat. I slid my phone back into my pocket and headed toward the counter.
The clerk shuffled through a stack of papers, then lifted his head.
"What's your business?"
I tilted my head slightly and took a breath.
"I'm here to take out a loan," I said. "A grand."
The clerk ran the numbers and checked my information. Long story short, I got the money.
After that, I turned to leave. I wanted to look at her—but I also wanted to enjoy the reward of knowing she was looking at me. And she was. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her watching.
Those eyes she has really get to me. I lifted my hand to my mouth and turned my head away from her, hiding my blush that I couldn't quite stop—entranced by how cute she looked.
"Jeez, I'm exhausted," I muttered, stifling a yawn.
I checked the time. Around one already.
Guess the suit could wait until tomorrow.
Out of the corner of my eye, just as I pushed the bank door open, Cali slipped into view. She bumped into me lightly—on purpose—and her soft side brushed against mine. The contact sent a quiet jolt through me, warm and electric.
It was… nice. Way nicer than I expected.
But I couldn't give in.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and stood there awkwardly. She took a small step away, and we started walking up the street side by side in silence. During that quiet stretch, I caught her glancing at me more than once.
I stopped suddenly, just to see what she'd do. She took a step past me, then turned back, studying my face for a few seconds before speaking.
She tucked one hand behind her back and rocked one foot in front of the other.
"You didn't answer my text… is it becau—"
I cut her off softly, but there was a sharpness underneath it.
"You don't know me."
I looked down, squinting for a moment like I could wake myself up, then met her eyes again.
"Don't try to make some half-assed guess about who I am—or why I didn't respond."
She looked away, her expression tightening like she felt guilty.
"Listen," she said quietly, "I didn't text you to chirp at you or anything. I'm not even friends with **** anymore, so…"
Jesus. I couldn't stand to even think about her. The things she did to me hurt—bad. Not just emotionally. I felt it physically, like my emotions were striking my chest, my heart, over and over again.
It shaped me into who I am now. I know that.
But if I'm being honest, I would've rather never met her at all.
Her name doesn't even register anymore—spoken or written, it means nothing. It's nonexistent, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Still, she shows up in my dreams. Too often, if I'm being honest. They're always the same: a crowded subway station, bodies pressing in from every side, and her standing there, staring at me with that dirty blond hair.
She never has a face. I've blocked it out.
She's just a phantom now—nothing more.
The only way I know how to stay in control is to turn my heart off, especially from people like that.
"I did jump the gun," I admitted, rubbing my face as a shiver ran through me. It felt like my head was about to fall off. All I wanted was to get home and sleep.
"Look," I said, still a little frantic, "here's the deal. I'm going to go home, shower, and sleep. And tomorrow—you can explain."
She looked shaken too. She couldn't meet my eyes, licking her upper teeth nervously.
"Yeah… maybe we go on a date," she said, letting out an awkward laugh afterward.
I couldn't tell if she was joking or just uncomfortable.
One thing was certain, though—I was taking it with a grain of salt. Caution saves lives. And it was going to save mine, too.
I took one last look into her eyes, trying to figure her out.
"Yeah… maybe," I said.
She told me her place was just a block down, so there was no need for me to walk her home. We went our separate ways.
I walked back to my place on tired legs, moving without much thought—one step in front of the other, then two, then three. I counted them in twos, not sure if it was helping me stay present or just making me more exhausted.
By the time I stopped counting, I was already home.
My apartment was organized, but mostly empty. The living room was anchored by a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall—the same one I'd brought with me when I moved out of my parents' place, treasured like a jewel. A rug-textured couch sat beneath it, a lone plant in the corner beside a lamp that filled the room with a soft orange glow.
My bedroom wasn't much of anything. Just a mattress, a desk, and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.
Getting back to my apartment meant jogging up flight after flight of stairs—no elevator. I didn't mind. I liked the workout. By the time I stepped inside, my lungs were burning just enough to feel alive.
The smell of the place hit me immediately. It was intoxicating—comfort mixed with temporary freedom.
I stripped off my clothes right by the front door—something I did often enough that I kept a laundry basket there just for it. Tonight, I didn't bother aiming. I was too tired.
I dragged myself toward the bathroom, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, the cold seeping up just enough to jolt me awake for a second. I stood there, staring at the shower, then shook my head.
I wasn't much of a morning shower person but right now, my bed was calling my name louder than anything else.