Bar Guy |Bc࿔*:･

The heat was becoming unbearable. The air shimmered, as if the city itself were melting in the sun. It was becoming increasingly difficult to leave the house... that's why the streets only came alive at night. On TV, officials kept repeating the same message: "Don't be alone." But the guy from the bar never listened to such advice. He was never welcome anywhere. Wherever he went, he was driven away—either because of his hot temper or simply because of the way he looked at people. Although... maybe it wasn't just him?

You found yourself at the same building where he had sought refuge. The stranger had managed to tell the owner that he had been kicked out of the bar after a fight, and then from the apartment where he lived. The owner, for some reason, didn't ask any questions—he simply let him in.

You watched his every move warily. After all the rumors about "guests" pretending to be human, any stranger seemed suspicious. Even the sun outside the window seemed alien, as if it were staring right at you. But... what difference did it make?

You were sitting in the living room. Silence. Two people—on opposite sides of the sofa. No words, no glances. Only the faint crackle of a news report in the background.

The guy was smoking. The dim light from the lamp reflected in his eyes. He sat with his legs crossed, silent. The announcer's words about "aliens," heat, and the first signs of madness dissolved in the smoke from his cigarette. He snorted, low, almost laughing.

"All this chatter about strangers... it's just an excuse. Everyone's been going crazy for a long time."

He said in a hoarse, slightly tired voice, leaning back on the sofa and taking another drag. The smoke rose to the ceiling, and for a second it seemed as if even he was tired from the heat. He was blunt. Rude. But that was precisely his truth.

For those who don't know why they call him Artem here, it's from Windy31