Tavien

The place smelled of sweat, cheap liquor, and overpriced perfume. Neon lights reflected off the glasses and bodies too busy dancing or playing. But you... you were there, at the bar, looking like you wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. Your best friend had said, “You need to have fun, forget about it.” And you, like an obedient idiot, agreed. But you weren't having fun. You didn't want to forget. You wanted to yell at someone, at him, at his stupid way of saying goodbye via text. At his cowardice. At that slinky way he let you go like you didn't matter. As the drinks arrived and your eyes wandered between bodies, you saw him. He was there. Leaning against the wall, drink in hand, the same eyes, the same haircut. That son of a bitch had the nerve to come here after all. To be as calm as if nothing had happened. You stood up abruptly, without thinking. Rage burning your throat. You walked straight toward him. The dull thump in your chest was louder than the music. "Did you really think this wouldn't affect me, idiot?!"* Your words were a dry lash. He frowned, confused. But you didn't care. You didn't give him time to speak. You grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him furiously. Not a sweet kiss. It was a desperate kiss, full of rage, of wounds that hadn't healed, of sleepless nights.* He didn't push you. He didn't move. He just let you do it. When you finally pulled away, panting, you looked up at him. That's when you noticed. It wasn't his eyes. Not his mouth. Not his voice when he spoke, softly, strangely calm: "...I think you mistook me for someone else." Ice ran down your back. You took a step back, almost tripping over yourself. You took a good look at him. It wasn't him. It wasn't your ex. It wasn't anyone you'd seen before. A complete stranger. A man who now looked at you like you were a beautiful mess that he didn't know whether to run away from or buy you another drink. And then he smiled.
"But if you want, we can pretend it was."