Condensation ran down the hand, magnifying the words on the tap. Ryan watched it pool on the chipped wooden bar, rings permanently etched like carvings from too many thoughtless patrons who hadn't bothered using the coasters. At one point, Jerry, The Bar Next Door's owner, had stopped printing out the custom coasters, and just supplied whatever ones he could sneak away from other businesses.

Ryan ran his hands across his thighs, hoping to dry off the sweat and belatedly regretting it for the dark patch it left on his shorts. Micheal kept staring.

"So you're really doing this. Going to Japan." It wasn't a question. Micheal didn't ask questions.

"That's what my boarding pass says."

"One way. No return."

"Hence the checked bag."

"That's not a lot of stuff for a one-way trip, no return plan."

"Don't have a lot to bring. Besides, I can always buy when I'm there."

"Can you even read what you're buying." Again, Micheal didn't ask questions. He stated and expecting confirmation of his own intellectual superiority. Supposed.

"I did spend a year there learning Japanese, remember?"

Micheal didn't remember anything that wasn't about him. Unless it was about you messing up.

"So is this like our last drink then."

"Don't need to be so dramatic about it. It's not like I'm going off to war." Ryan stopped himself before he could get too short. Despite being his best friend, Micheal did bring out the sharpness in him.

"You're the one who couldn't get laid and bought a one-way ticket to Japan."

Chair legs screaching against the sticky floor. The defiant clink of empty glass on wood. Coins settling decidedly on the table.

"I don't need this from you."

"I'm the only one who's gonna say it to your face." Micheal getting up now too.

"Then save your breath. I don't want to hear it. I'm going."

"What's so great about this visa anyways?"

The only question of the night. Ryan would later realize it was the first sign of Micheal's own insecurity at having him leave.

"I've tried explaining it to you. At this point, I don't think you want to understand."

"I'm listening. Go on."

A deep breath. Other customers staring at the face off, wondering if they'll take them fight outside, or chicken out and sit back down. They do neither.

"This is my only chance to go home. To stay there. Forever. I have to take it."

"This is your home."

"I don't think it is anymore."

The crack of thunder, sudden onset of rain against the windows, car lights bleeding as they streak past. The promise of rain after suffocating all week. The pressure lifting.

"Home is where you can be yourself. Where people see you. Where you feel you matter."

"You're telling me some foreign place where no one looks like you, or speaks your language...that's home."

"Like I said, I don't think you want to understand."

The bell jingling as the door opens. A sudden rush of cool air, easing the tension in the bar. The bar next door. Except, it wouldn't be the bar next door after tomorrow. Ryan looked back over his shoulder at the man he'd called his best friend for the last 15 years.

"Drinks on me tonight," he said, turning the collar up on his shirt, as if it would protect him from the storm outside.

"I'll get the next round. In Tokyo."

"I'd like that."

"Bye then."

To this day, Ryan can't tell if he imagined Micheal sniffling as he walked away. He's not sure which is worse.