Of Lonely Hearts

"I envy you."

Another beer rushed down his throat. The American gulped it down and put the bottle back on the counter, half of it remaining and still remaining cold. As blue eyes scanned the area around him, he decided that perhaps another half hour would do. The people inside the bar had decreased by a significant amount; there were only a few men here and there left, drinking their scotch and whiskey silently to themselves. Peters, on the other hand, just needed a quick fix after the day. Some beer to go and perhaps a shot or two, and he’d be fine. This was no night for picking a lady up, nor was it a night for staying overtime at headquarters and working his ass off ‘til dawn. This was a night for himself.

Or so he initially thought. He heard the bartender chuckle understandingly, speaking in rather strained English as he comforted some poor soul who sat in front of him. Peters didn’t spare a glance and merely grabbed hold of the green beer bottle once more, preparing to take another drink and order another. With a roll of his eyes, he tried to ignore that all of this would kill his wallet. Payday would come within the week, so why not blow all his remaining cash? Mentally, though, he reminded himself to spare a reasonable amount. He needed to pay apartment rent somehow.

So begrudgingly, the man took out his wallet and tucked a few hundred yen in the pocket containing his ID. That would go to the jar in the corner of his bedroom, reserved for whatever the hell he needed that he found important. Finally finishing off the bottle, he pushed it back, called the bartender, and yet ordered another. The older man nodded and went off.

A light ding alerted him that once more, the population within the bar decreased by one.

So he’d be staying until closing time, perhaps?

The black-haired man came back with said beer, and Peters paid before taking it and drinking. From his left, he could hear faint singing of someone older, perhaps singing a song composed in the 70’s. From his right, he could hear the bartender conversing with the same person as a while back. Curiosity getting the best of him, he turned to look.

A few stools away sat a woman, with dark hair covering  her face, wearing a jacket and pants. In her hands was a small glass, and she was merely playing with the rim as she conversed with the man. Peters looked away, but froze as he heard something peculiar coming from her mouth.

“…bloody work driving me up the wall, it’s a large pain.”

“Take a break.”

“With my kind of job, it isn’t possible.”

“I wish you luck, then.”

Peters felt like slamming his face into the cold marble counter as he recognized the familiar, disgruntled British accent that accompanied her tone. Or rather, the voice that dripped with sarcasm and slight bitterness. Perhaps it was the German in her. Or was it the English?

The hell he knew. For all he cared, his homeland ousted the British and defeated the Germans.

“Peters?”

And once more he turned. Yep, that was her. Same outfit, same hair, same glass in her right hand. Except her clothes looked a little wrinkled and her hair was a little messed in some places, but it was still the snarky Team Lead he came to work with. He nodded in her direction. Best be polite, even outside the building, rather than have her rage in his face.

“A, nice seeing you here.”

“Hm. Didn’t see you when I came in.” She took a drink from the small glass. “How long have you been here?” he glanced at his wrist watch, the time reading 12:04AM.

“Around an hour or an hour and a half. Not really a long time.”

“Ah.” She set the glass down.

Silence surrounded both of them. All of the sudden, the bartender seemed to disappear into the back. Peters willed for him to come back and converse with A. This was getting a little on the awkward side.

 “You didn’t stay overtime?” might as well attempt to make conversation.

“No, I had to come here and let off some steam. If I stayed, it would be my fifth night going overtime.” How arrogant. “I hope this month’s pay is worth it.”

“Why’re you hoping?” he snorted. “Don’t you have enough cash to roll in?”

“I don’t. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh. I’m a little surprised. Seeing as you’ve got quite the house back there.”

She shrugged. “Used the money left for me.”

“And now you’re trying to make ends meet?”

“Exactly.” She shot him a look. “Our stories aren’t as far off as I thought, Peters.”

“That surprises me,” the brunette muttered as he drank. She left her glass untouched. “Thought you’d be relaxing at this point, back home with your comfy bed and coffee mug in hand. Sort of like the type of girl back in America, living alone or whatever bullshit they pull back there.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not. I’m over here. And even if I were to be at home this very minute, I’d be working and drinking whatever I could get my hands on. In the living room. I’d probably sleep on the couch if I had to.” She watched him. “And in case you’re wondering, it isn’t a two floor extravaganza. I’d be stuck in a debt if I even tried to purchase that type of home.”

“Mm. So what’s it look like?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s two floors. But my room and the bathroom only consist of the second floor. The first is mainly the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Kitchen and dining room are adjacent. Step into the house and the first thing you see is the living room.”

“Huh. Sounds better than the apartment I live in.”

“Describe it.”

“I don’t need to climb flights of stairs to get to it, I just park in my spot and it’s there. Around five steps of stairs lead to my front door. Go in, and there’s a kitchen to your left that shares the dining room and the living room to the right. Walk north – past the living room – there’s a door that leads to my bedroom.  In the bedroom, to the right is another door. Go in there and there’s a bathroom. Nothing special, really. It’s great for late night beer and Sunday night sports that I can’t even understand because it's in goddamn Japanese and there aren’t any subtitles.”

She snickered.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I find your lacking ability to speak the language amusing.”

“Well, not all of us can be experts in more than two dialects, green-eyes.”

“Calm the fuck down.” She gave him a long look. “I can’t speak a lick of the language. Just the basics.”

“Huh. Really?” she nodded. “Then that must be why you were talking to Mr. Bartender in English.”

“He spoke it first after I attempted to ask how much a shot of vodka was.”

Peters smirked. “He must have felt sorry for you, then.”

The comment, he expected, was to be met with anger. But she didn't even blink as she replied, “I guess so.” She looked up, smiled as the bartender came back, and asked for yet another shot. “I mean, think of it. Girl from England moves to Tokyo with no knowledge about said place.”

He stared at her.

“You’re starting to weird me out. At this point, we’d be at each others’ throats.”

The black-haired woman merely shrugged. “I’m not in the mood for arguments, Peters. I just want a nice night for drinking and getting my ass home before I can kill myself because of drunk driving.”

“You go ahead and do that.” He lifted his bottle. “I’ll just finish this beer.”

* * * * *

Samuel Peters’ first impression of Arianne Maxwell was a calm, quite pretty agent who kept to herself because she didn't want to deal with anyone else. Upon meeting her, he realized that only the third assumption was correct. (Maybe even the second, but finding her attractive was just like finding diamond in a random piece of coal – it just couldn’t happen.) When he finally got to know her, he realized she was the following:

1.       Irritable

2.       Bitter

3.       Unstable

4.       Emotional

5.       Unable to handle her liquor well

The fifth point was realized after taking her to a bar for the first time to cool her jets. It ended with Touta having to bring her back home in his car, and Peters struggling to comprehend what had just happened. So basically, his attraction to her popped and he merely found her irritating. It took a long time for them to get used to each other, and he was quite sure he would never fully understand her.

He believed she would never understand him as well.

But with the whole recent events that had just occurred, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t as angry or cross or short-fused. Her good days usually occurred randomly, and Peters would only realize that at the end of the day, suddenly wondering why she hadn’t yelled or swore or growled in frustration. Maybe it was the alcohol, he thought. It always seemed to calm the nerves of whoever drank.

Or maybe it was because she simply needed some time out, just like him.

He sighed and turned to the silent woman, who was merely staring at her phone.

“Spill it, what did you really come here for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“People don’t drink for no reason in the middle of the night.”

“They sometimes do.”

“That’s not the point. You went here because of something.”

“And why do you care?” Peters paused. Why did he care? “My personal life doesn’t mean anything to you, Peters.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” He snapped. “If you want to sulk in here and drink until you need to get a cab, I’m okay with that. Jesus Christ, I had no idea how touchy women were these days…”

Despite his grumbling, his ears didn’t fail to catch the soft reply.

“I need to think. Think of how to get everything back in order, try to balance work and myself. In case you haven’t noticed, I spend about eighty percent of a single week in that building.”

“And the twenty percent at home?”

“Usually. Fifteen at home at five at the bar, however, if I need it.” A sighed. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

A bitter smirk came to her lips. “How much I envy you, Samuel.”

It took him some time to comprehend that, and she let him take all the time he needed. She could see the disbelief in his blue eyes, how he struggled to understand that one sentence, those six words that meant nothing and everything at the same time. She kept the smirk on her lips and drank once more, patiently waiting for him to get a reply out of those lips stained with beer.

Finally, he managed to speak. “You must be drunk already.”

She laughed. “No, I’m not. I meant every word.”

“So let me get this straight. You envy me?” Peters felt like he had been transported to another dimension. When in the world would A envy a man such as himself? His arrogance turned his thoughts towards appearance, but his common sense pushed it away. No, it wasn’t that. It was something else.

But what?

“I do.”  At that she looked down, staring at the glass in her hands. “It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.”

“What the fuck do you envy about me?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “You’re a rank higher and live in a place worth more than mine. People at the office respect you like they respect J – they don’t fear you, but there’s still some respect in there.”

“It’s not in terms of economics or status or respect.” She hesitated a little bit. “It’s with love.”

And at that moment, Peters realized one thing.

She was totally, undeniably, fucking wrong.

“You’re wrong.”

A frown lit her features. “Excuse me?”

“If you think those one night stands and trips from the bar are classified as love, then you’re dead wrong.” He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. “That’s lust, A. There’s a difference. When you’re in love, you make love. When you’re in lust, you fuck. Love isn’t equivalent to lust, and it will never be.” Pausing, he took the moment to light the cigarette. “I haven’t found love in Tokyo ever since I moved here. The last time I was in love, I was in Bronx and I was in high school and I was stupid.”

“…perhaps I worded it wrongly.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” The American took a drag. “What you must have meant is that you envy the company I tend to have outside of work.”

What you don't know is that I’d rather have your situation.

He eyed her. “You’re much too young to even experience love, A. What are you, nineteen going twenty? There’s a ton more in store for you, and love has to be the least of your problems. But I’ll tell you something. Something that I’ve learned over my years of playing and dating with lust on the mind.”

She merely looked at him, waiting.

“When it comes, it’ll be worth it.”

* * * * *

At the end of the night, both people bade each other goodbye, going their separate ways. Peters drove his car back to his apartment, and A rode her motorcycle back home. Samuel Peters could tell that he had given her a lot to think about. As he stepped into his apartment and locked the door, the man could only stare around himself and look at the things around him, then walked to the bedroom and shut the door.

As she locked her own bedroom door and sat on the bed, she tried to absorb the events of the evening. Confessions, talks, revelations…she wondered if he was right. If it was worth waiting for. Her eyes glanced at the still phone on the bedside table and she took it into her hands, pressing the button and merely glancing at the picture that greeted her.

Blue eyes. Cheeky grin.

“When it comes, it’ll be worth it.”

A sincerely hoped that he was worth the wait.