At midnight, the bar hummed with a restless glow. Neon lights bled through thick glass windows, breaking into mottled fragments that drifted across the floor like shards of light suspended in the air. The dim yellow pendant lamps cast pools of warmth over the glossy bar counter, where liquor trembled in their glasses with a faint shimmer. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat. Low jazz curled through the room like a hidden current, slipping between tables and chairs. Laughter and the clinking of glasses rose and fell, but felt far away, as if from another world.

Mike and Alex sat in a shadowed corner by the window, half-empty glasses before them. Outside, neon flickered and fractured into their drinks, casting restless reflections across their faces, as though time itself was swaying.

Mike spoke slowly, his voice low. “Alex, are you truly happy with Rue and the others? You’re over thirty now. Haven’t you ever thought about finding a woman, getting married, having kids—living a normal life?”

Alex lowered his head, fingers tapping the glass with a hollow, crystalline sound. Reflections flickered in his eyes like old wounds catching the light. He sighed, voice hoarse and frayed. “I’ve thought about it. Who hasn’t? But you know, I grew up watching unhappy marriages. My parents divorced and remarried. My sister is my father’s biological child; I’m my mother’s. She’s smart, accomplished, always praised. Me? I’m just… average. My father forced me to skip college, said it was a waste of money. Told me to learn a trade. So I became an electrician. And deep down, I’ve always carried this stubborn defiance.”

Mike’s brow furrowed. “I had no idea about your parents. All I remember is you transferring in from out of town. Your grades back then were about the same as mine—not that different.”

Alex tilted his head back with a bitter smile, draining his glass in one gulp. His Adam’s apple bobbed sharply; his eyes reddened. “But look at you now—you went to university, got respectable jobs. And me? If my family had supported me, I could’ve gone to some no-name university at least, had a career I wasn’t ashamed of. You think I don’t want to marry a good girl? The ones with good conditions don’t fancy me, and the ones with less, I don’t fancy them.”

He let out a low laugh, somewhere between irony and pain.

“Last year, I took on an apprentice named June—a young girl fresh out of school. We were together for almost a year before her parents tore us apart.” His fingers struck the table hard enough to make the glass rattle.

Mike hesitated, then murmured, “I remember. We had dinner together back then. She… seemed to be carrying your child.”

Alex’s smile vanished; his eyes darkened like a storm. “Yeah. Her dad accused me of luring a minor and threatened to call the police. What a joke—she was twenty-one. We quit our jobs and ran away together, but within two months she regretted it. Said she couldn’t see a future with me, that we couldn’t afford a child. In the end she went back to her parents… and had an abortion.”

His voice cracked to a whisper. He tilted back his head and emptied the glass again. A streak of liquor slid from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t wipe it away.

Mike sat silent for a long time before slowly lifting his own glass. He clinked it gently against Alex’s and drained it.

The bar’s music shifted abruptly to a raucous dance track. Disco lights spun overhead, scattering shards of color across their corner, briefly revealing the tear tracks on Alex’s face.

Alex suddenly laughed—a low, broken sound edged with sarcasm. “I love soccer, you know. I run the hundred in twelve seconds. I’m a striker. But what good is that? The girls cheering for me on the field would walk away the moment they heard I was just an electrician. No one wanted to talk.”

Mike frowned. “Then why did so many women still want to be with you?”

Alex shook his head, his bitter smile deepening. “Don’t even ask. After June, I went back to my hometown and found a job. One day I was installing a chandelier at Rue’s place. She recognized me, said she was a fan. We hit it off, went clubbing, drinking, ended up in bed that night. She said her husband was too old, couldn’t satisfy her anymore. She said I made her feel alive again, like a real woman.”

He rubbed his temples, voice soft. “I’m just a man. I have needs. But Rue got older, couldn’t satisfy me completely. So she introduced me to her girlfriends. Slowly, I got used to this life—real women, no strings attached. No feelings, just playmates.”

He raised his head at last, eyes hollow but burning. “But what about inside?” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I craved love. So I went to chat rooms for virtual affection. Funny thing—virtual love felt more real than reality. Only then did I feel like a living person, not just… a tool.”

His gaze sank to the bottom of his glass, silence spreading like water between them. The night, the alcohol, the neon, the music—all merged into that silence, seeping deep into their bones.