Eclipse

17

Shion
Maya's parting words from a week ago were still stuck in my head like a stubborn melody I couldn't shake. "There's always something interesting happening at the club, Shion. You're just blind to it. You look at people and just see hollow shells."
Every time I looked out over the glowing neon haze of Eclipse, her voice echoed.
Tonight, the club was finally back to full strength. The heavy flu that had hollowed out our staff had passed, and everyone had returned to their stations. Maya was back, too, though she still looked a little pale around the edges, her usual hyperactive bounce slightly subdued as she carried a stack of fresh linens toward the VIP rooms.
"Don't push yourself tonight," I told her quietly as she paused near the service bar. "If the cleaning buckets feel too heavy, or if the late hours get overwhelming, let me know. I'll help you with anything."
Maya blinked at me, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across her lips."Wow, boss. Look at you showing off that big heart of yours. Careful, or the rest of the staff might realize you're actually a softie under all that brooding. Don't worry, my genius feather-duster hands are fully functional."
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smirk. "Just stay hydrated, author."
I resolved to keep a close eye on her throughout the night, but the weekend rush quickly shattered my good intentions. Eclipse became overwhelmingly overcrowded. The bass thumped violently through the floorboards, and a sea of desperate, thirsty bodies pressed against the mahogany bar.
In the chaotic blur of shaking tins and pouring liquor, a stunning woman in a backless silk dress leaned heavily over the counter, trapping my gaze. She twirled a strand of blonde hair, locking her eyes onto mine with a heavy, deliberate intensity.
"You know," she purred, her voice cutting through the noise as she reached out to brush her manicured fingers against the back of my hand. "You look like a man who knows exactly how to handle complex flavors. I bet there's a fascinating depth behind those cold gray eyes of yours."
Remembering Maya's lecture, I paused. I stopped pouring, looked into the woman's eyes, and genuinely tried to understand what she was feeling.
"Everyone is looking for someone special," I said, keeping my voice grounded and sincere.
The woman blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second, before she burst into a shallow, melodious laugh. She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, honey, I don't do 'special' on a Friday night. I just want casual sex with someone hot. Are you off shift soon or what?"
A cold splash of reality hit me. I pulled my hand back, smoothly sliding her gin and tonic across the polished wood. "Enjoy your drink," I murmured.
As she slinked back into the crowd, I muttered to myself under my breath. They are not just hollow shells, huh? Maya is just a hopeless romantic.
But by the end of the grueling shift, the crowd finally thinned out. The neon lights dimmed to a soft amber, and the roaring bass melted into a quiet, late-night jazz track. The last remaining guest in the lounge was Marcus. He sat at his usual corner table, looking utterly deflated.
He slid up to the bar, placing his empty tumbler on the counter. "One more, Shion. Please."
I poured the top-shelf scotch, but instead of walking away to count the register, I stayed. I leaned my elbows on the back bar, looking at him. "Are you okay?"
Marcus stared down into the amber liquid. Suddenly, his shoulders shook, and a quiet, heavy sob broke through his chest. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I miss her," he choked out.
"Your ex..." I said softly, feeling a rare pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry."
Marcus looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "You know?" He let out a dry, bitter laugh and nodded. "Of course. Everyone here knows our sad story with Kathie."
"Not really," I admitted quietly.
Marcus took a shaky breath, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "Kathie is a songwriter," he said softly, looking at the counter. "But she couldn't ever succeed in getting popular. She tried so hard, writing lyrics in the middle of the night, recording demos in our living room. And me? I thought her songs were just okay. I treated her life's passion like a little hobby. Something casual. Something not really worth wasting time on. I didn't support her."
He took a slow sip, his eyes filled with profound regret.
"The final straw was when she found out I was going to meet someone from the music industry through my work. She begged me to just pass along a link to her digital portfolio. Just ask the guy to take a look. I told her I would. But I completely forgot. It completely slipped my mind."
I felt a slight tightening in my chest. "What happened when she found out?"
"She got incredibly upset," Marcus swallowed hard. "And instead of apologizing, I snapped. I told her she shouldn't harbor false hopes. I told her she needed to accept reality and just take her songwriting as a hobby. She freaked out. She walked out of the apartment, came straight to Eclipse, and ended up venting to that guy at the bar. The guy she eventually left me for."
Marcus looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "That guy didn't think her dream was a waste of time. He encouraged her. That very night, he arranged a meeting with a music producer he knew. They listened to her work, told her she had real potential, and even sponsored a scholarship for her to go to music school. She packed her bags, broke up with me, and she won't even look at my texts anymore."
I processed the heavy weight of his words. "Did she succeed in her music career after all?"
Marcus shook his head slowly, a sad smile touching his lips. "It doesn't even matter, Shion. Don't you see? Whether she becomes a famous pop star or never sells a single record doesn't change anything. All that mattered to her was that the person she loved took her life dream seriously. I failed her."
Marcus finished his drink, set a hundred-dollar bill on the counter, and gave me a tired nod. "Thanks for listening, man. Goodnight."
As he walked out the heavy velvet doors, I stood frozen behind the bar. Maya's voice echoed in my head again, but this time, it was accompanied by a wave of sharp clarity. Marcus wasn't a hollow shell. He was a man grieving a catastrophic mistake. He was entirely human.
"Shion!"
A sudden force collided with my side. Maya jumped right next to me, her eyes wide, practically vibrating with excitement despite her exhaustion.
"What did he say? What did Marcus tell you?" she pleaded, making the most ridiculous, exaggerated puppy-dog eyes I had ever seen. "Anything about his broken heart? Please tell me! I need material for my book, Shion. I am begging you!"
I looked down at her—at this stubborn, overly imaginative girl , who spent her breaks frantically typing out drafts in her phone notes, dreaming of becoming a bestselling author.
A genuine laugh bubbled up from my chest, catching me completely by surprise.
"Alright, alright, stop the theatrics," I said, a soft smile breaking through my usual armor. "I think I have the perfect story for your book. But you have to promise me you'll change the names and everything. Deal?"
"Deal! Oh my god, yes!" Maya squealed, grabbing her coat and pulling my sleeve toward the exit. "Come on, let's go right now! If we start walking to the subway, you'll have enough time to tell me the whole thing on the way!"
I let her pull me out into the cool night air, locking the heavy doors of Eclipse behind us. As we walked down the quiet city street, Maya bounced on her heels beside me.
"Just watch, Shion," she said proudly, looking up at the starlit sky. "This book is going to be a masterpiece. It's going to be a bestseller!"
I laughed softly, looking at her determined face, Marcus's story echoing in my mind. I reached over, lightly tugging on the hood of her jacket.
"I'm sure it will be," I said, my voice dropping to a rare, fiercely sincere tone. "But even if it isn't—you have one reader for sure."
Maya went entirely still, her eyes widening as she stared up at me in the glow of the streetlights. For once, the witty author was completely speechless. I didn't care if her book sold millions or ended up sitting in a dusty drawer. I was going to support her dream, no matter what.