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The floor was ice-cold beneath every step, its polished surface reflecting the dim amber glow that spilled from the hanging lights overhead.
Rows of worn pleather barstools lined the counter, their smooth red seats cracked just enough to hint at years of use.
Despite the warm lighting, the air itself was frigid, carrying the faint scent of old wood, alcohol, and the metallic bite of the cold AC.
Behind the counter, Rook stood alone.
With practiced, almost mechanical movements, she ran a cloth around the rim of a glass, inspecting it before setting it aside and reaching for the next.
There wasn't much to do when no one was around, so cleaning the same glasses over and over had become a habit more than a necessity. The silence suited her.
Without looking up, Rook already knew who had walked in.
A familiar pair of footsteps echoed across the cold floor, unhurried and confident.
Wiyda slipped onto one of the barstools with effortless grace, resting both elbows on the polished countertop as though she belonged there.
A bright, almost mischievous smile spread across her face as she tilted her head toward the bartender.
"Hello, my dear Rook," she greeted warmly. "How are you? Enjoying your stay here?"
Rook let out an audible scoff.
She placed the glass onto the shelf behind her with deliberate care before finally turning to face her. Her expression was as flat and unimpressed as ever.
"Of course it'd be you," she muttered. "I was actually hoping for a customer." She folded the towel over one shoulder. "So... state your business."
Wiyda pressed a hand dramatically against her chest, feigning heartbreak. She leaned a little farther across the counter, her smile never wavering.
"Not happy to see me?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock offense. "You wound me, Rook. That really hurts my heart, you know."
His eyes narrowed.
"Yeah," she replied dryly. "I'm sure it does."
A brief silence settled between them.
Rook picked up another glass, turning it lazily in one hand before giving Wiyda an expectant look.
"So," she said, "are you actually going to order something, or are you just here to waste my time?"
Wiyda's grin widened.
"Ah..." she hummed, tapping a finger against the countertop as if seriously considering the question. "No, not today."
She leaned in just a little closer.
"I just wanted to talk to you."
Rook stared at her for a long moment, completely unconvinced.
"...That's somehow even more concerning."
"Well..." Wiyda let out a quiet laugh that lacked its usual confidence. "That's certainly one way to describe it."
Rook raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"I just don't believe you're here for a genuine conversation," she said plainly. "You always seem to have some sort of motive behind everything you do. Nothing with you is ever... simple."
The words hung in the air.
For once, Wiyda didn't have a clever response waiting. She looked away, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against the polished wood of the bar.
"I just..." she began before stopping herself. A long sigh escaped her. "No. You're right." The admission felt foreign on her tongue.
Her shoulders slumped slightly, the usual theatrical confidence draining from her posture. Her mind wandered back to Blackjack, to everything that had happened there.
There were so many things she wanted to say. Too many. Where would she even begin? Should she tell Rook about Cecilia? If she already didn't know.
About how easily Cecilia twisted guilt into obedience, kindness into obligation? About how she'd convinced Rook that every terrible thing she did was somehow necessary?
Wiyda wanted to shout it. She wanted to scream that Cecilia didn't care. Not about her. Not about anyone. She had made that painfully obvious.
Yet even now, some stubborn part of Wiyda hesitated to speak against her.
As though saying the words aloud would make them undeniably real.
Then there were Sandbag and Sailor. Their faces surfaced uninvited in her thoughts. Dead yet not gone because of fate.
Not because of some unavoidable tragedy. Dead because of this god forsaken place. It was a realization she couldn't outrun anymore.
Everything she did impacted something, or someone else. Every lie, Every bargain, Every moment she chose to stay silent, People paid the price.The silence between them stretched until it became almost unbearable.
Rook watched her carefully.
She'd known Wiyda long enough to recognize the performance the constant smiles, the jokes, the teasing remarks that kept everyone at arm's length.
This wasn't that.
For perhaps the first time, Rook was looking at someone who seemed exhausted from pretending.
The irritation faded from her expression, replaced by something quieter. Concern.
It was subtle, almost invisible, but it was there. "Hmph." Rook rested her forearms against the counter.
"Well," she said, her voice softer than before, "if you truly wish to speak..." She gestured vaguely with one hand. "...go on."
Wiyda swallowed. "I don't know how."
Rook frowned. "You've never had trouble talking before."
"Talking?" Wiyda let out a hollow chuckle. "Sure. I can talk for hours." She looked down at her reflection in the polished countertop. "But telling the truth..." Her smile finally disappeared. "..uh..that's harder."
Rook didn't interrupt. She simply waited. After another long silence, Wiyda spoke so quietly that Rook almost didn't hear her.
"Have you ever realized you've been following someone for so long that you stopped asking whether they were leading you somewhere worth going?"
Rook's eyes narrowed. "Who are you talking about?"
Wiyda hesitated. "...Cecilia."
The name alone seemed to chill the room more than the freezing air ever could.
"You thought she had everything figured out," Wiyda continued. "Every decision, every sacrifice... she always had a reason. Or at least, that's what she wanted you to believe."
She laughed bitterly.
" telling yourself that if you just trusted her a little longer, it'd all make sense." Her hands clenched together. "It never did."
Rook remained silent, letting Wiyda continue at her own pace.
"I keep thinking about Sandbag... and Sailor." The names caught in her throat. "They're dead." Her voice cracked for the first time.
"And I don't know if I was just another bystander... or if I helped make it happen."
Rook slowly set the glass she'd been holding back onto the shelf. "You came here because you wanted someone to tell you which one it was?"
Wiyda looked up. "...no."
Rook met her gaze evenly. "I can't do that even if you wanted me too."
The words stung.
"But I can tell you this." She leaned forward slightly. "If you're finally questioning the path you've been walking..." Then a brief pause. "...then you're already farther from the person who started down it than you think."
Rook met Wiyda's eyes without flinching. "I believe you can be a better person," she said quietly. "But you can only become one if you believe that yourself."
The words lingered in the stillness. Wiyda said nothing. She simply looked at Rook.
One second stretched into another, until it felt as though time itself had slowed.
Her attention drifted, catching on details she'd somehow never noticed before.
Rook's bottom lashes were longer than the ones above, giving her normally stern expression an unexpected softness.
A faint warmth colored her cheeks beneath the amber light of the bar. Even her hands resting against the polished counter looked gentle.
It was strange. Wiyda had spent so long seeing Rook as someone stubborn, someone impossible to get anything out of, that she'd forgotten she was simply... human.
"...And as for Cecilia," Rook continued.
Wiyda's focus snapped back.
"I know."
The simple words caught her off guard, then Rook sighed quietly.
"I know shes been manipulating me."
Wiyda blinked.
"You... what?"
Rook gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. "I'm not oblivious."
Her fingers idly traced the rim Wiyda's palm.
"I know she chooses what to tell me and what to keep hidden. I know she nudges conversations in the direction she wants. Sometimes..." She exhaled. "Sometimes I leave a conversation with her realizing I agreed to something before I even understood what she'd asked."
Wiyda stared at her in disbelief. "And you're just... okay with that?"
"No." Rook's answer came immediately. "Of course I'm not."
Silence settled between them.
"But..." Rook continued after a moment, "...I don't think she does it because she enjoys controlling people."
Wiyda frowned.
"I think she's terrified."
"Terrified?" Wiyda repeated.
"She carries more than she lets anyone see." Rook's gaze drifted toward the shelves behind the bar. "She trusts almost no one. So she plans everything herself. She keeps secrets. She manipulates situations... and people."
She grimaced slightly, as if admitting it hurt. "I don't like that she does it."
"But?"
"But I think she believes she's protecting others."
Wiyda's expression hardened.
"Rook..."
"I know how that sounds."
"No, I don't think you do."
Wiyda leaned forward, her voice calm but firm.
"Someone can believe they're protecting people and still hurt them."
Rook didn't answer.
"You just admitted she manipulates you."
"I did."
"And you still defend her."
"I'm trying to understand her."
"And is she trying to understand you?"
That question finally reached her. Rook's lips parted slightly before closing again.
Wiyda continued, quieter now. "When was the last time she asked what you wanted?"
No answer. "When was the last time she trusted you with the whole truth?"
Rook lowered her eyes. "...I don't know if she ever has."
Wiyda's voice softened. "That's what scares me." She wasn't angry anymore. She wasn't trying to win an argument.
"I don't think Cecilia is some monster who wakes up wanting to ruin people's lives." Rook looked up. "I think she tells herself every lie is necessary."
Wiyda's gaze never left Rook's. "But if someone keeps taking away your ability to choose because they think they know better..." She paused. "...Does it really matter if they meant well?"
For the first time since Wiyda had arrived, Rook had no answer. She simply stood there, staring at the countertop, turning the question over in her mind.
It wasn't enough to shatter her faith in Cecilia. Not yet. But it was enough to make her wonder whether good intentions could excuse the harm they caused.
"I just..." Wiyda started, her voice unusually unsteady. "I don't want you to be taken advantage of."
She looked down at the countertop, struggling to find the words. "Rook, I..."
"Why?" The question stopped her cold. Rook's eyes searched hers. "What does any of this matter to you?"
Wiyda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Rook's expression softened ever so slightly.
"...Are you trying to tell me you care about me?"
Heat rushed to Wiyda's face. "What? No I mean, that's not..." She rubbed the back of her neck with an awkward laugh. "That's a strange way to put it."
She stood from her stool before she could think too hard about what she was doing. The chair scraped softly against the floor as she stepped toward the bar.
Without really meaning to, she reached across the counter and squeezed Rooks hands between her own. Only after she'd done it did she realize what she'd just done.
"Wiyda..."
"I just..." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching desperately for a way around the question. "You're... you."
Rook blinked. "What."
"You're kind."
Wiyda frowned, annoyed at herself, then sighed.
"You listen to people. Even when they're rude to you."
"You give everyone the benefit of the doubt."
"You're the kind of person who'd stay up all night helping someone and then act like it wasn't a big deal." She laughed nervously.
"You'd make drinks for people who can't afford them and pretend you 'made too much.'"
Rook's eyes widened slightly.
"You'd remember everyone's favorite order."
"You'd remember birthdays."
"You'd apologize when something isn't even your fault."
The words kept coming faster, as though she'd opened a door she couldn't close.
"You're patient, and you're honest."
"You're stubborn to a fault, but somehow in a... respectable way."
She looked away.
"And you're probably the only person I know who's actually... good."
The bar was silent, the silence filled by Wiyda still talking. "I mean, you're just..." She gestured vaguely with one hand, clearly frustrated that language had suddenly abandoned her. "You're amazing."
"As if that explains anything," Rook murmured.
"It does to me!"
Wiyda stopped. Realizing what she'd just blurted out, she froze. A blush spread across her face. "I mean..."
She stumbled over her words. "What I'm trying to say is..." She groaned quietly. "You're a genuinely wonderful woman."
Her grip on Rook's hands tightened even more unconsciously. "And people like you..."
She swallowed.
"...people like you shouldn't have to wonder whether the people around them are telling the truth."
She finally looked Rook in the eyes. "So no." A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not saying I care about you." She paused just long enough for Rook to raise an eyebrow. "I'm saying that someone as thoughtful, selfless, and unbelievably stubborn as you deserves better than being treated like another piece on someone else's board."
Rook stared at her. Not at the words. At the way Wiyda had said them. Without exaggeration, Without sarcasm, Without pretending.
Slowly, the guarded look she'd been wearing all evening dissolved. "...You really have no idea what you're admitting, do you?" she asked softly.
Wiyda blinked, and she dropped rook's hands, embarrassed. "What?"
Rook couldn't help the small smile that found its way onto her face. "...Never mind."
And they were lesbian and they lived happily ever after the end awwwww.