Luke’s mouth was burning.

He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his eyes, relishing in the cold darkness for a moment as he leaned his forearms on the steering wheel. Everything felt dark and gloomy. The liquor store was ringing again, and Luke didn’t have the willpower to put it on hold.

With a deep sigh of guilt, he started up his car, the rickety old vehicle churning to life, headlights blinking tiredly as it trudged down the road. What would have she said, if she knew she was going back?

Probably scold him, knowing her. Luke, you swore that you would quit. You promised yourself. It’s destroying you.

If Luke could still see her in front of him, he would chuckle, humorlessly, and say, “You already destroyed me. What more could it possibly do?”

It was four years. Today marked four years.

Four years ago, the love of his life had walked out on him.

Luke swore, hitting the wheel with the palm of his hand. It startled forward, letting out a surprised honk.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, leaning forward, black greasy hair falling flat on his pale forehead. The lights were too bright, and everything felt fuzzy and static, the way it always got when he went like…this.

His car slowed to a stop, and he looked up, unsure how long he had been driving for. The bar, with its blinding lights and terrible rave songs, was on full blast.

For a moment, Luke could lose himself in the lives of all these people, like a hivemind, high off the feeling of being lonely but not alone anymore. He could chug beers until he was so tipsy he would collapse on the pavement and snore the night away. He could lose himself in another life, even if it was just for a night.

His stomach rumbled, twinging with pain. What had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember.

Getting wasted without getting a few bites in wasn’t good for anyone. He stumbled towards the diner next to the bar. It was small and the sign was ripped. The paint on the door was flaky, but as he walked in he felt a ripple of warmth wash over him. The lighting was dim enough to not be painful, but still glowed softly so he could see. The only sound was the quiet humming of the barista and the funky indie song playing over the little radio.

Cautiously, he slid into a booth. The barista didn’t acknowledge him, just continuing to nod and hum along to the beat. She was the sort of girl that Luke would have tried to flirt with.

But it was the ungodly hour of one AM, and nobody deserved a sleep-deprived version of him. He slumped back in the booth, the springs creaking under the weight of his back. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, the darkness comforting in a way. Nobody tried to approach him, to ask him what was wrong. He was grateful.

He had never tried to explain himself to another person. His only friends left were his bar friends. The most they had ever done for him was rig designated driver on nights when he was especially lost in the past. Which…counted something.

He looked up at the waitress again. She had started to sway to the song, twirling around the broom with a graceful sort of clumsiness about her.

The chunky mushroom choker she was wearing accented her red and black plaid sweater perfectly. Her eyeliner was a soft yellow, like it was made of sugared moonlight. She seemed familiar, like someone he had once known.

Maybe, if the night was younger, and they weren’t the only two in the diner, lost in their own little worlds, he would strike up a conversation with her. Learn about her story and where she had gotten that yellow eyeliner. Then, he could take it and become her, dancing alone in a bar with nobody listening, needing nothing but the rhythm.

He startled as footsteps echoed closer to him, glancing up to see her next to his table. She had stopped dancing now, looking down at him with a strange sadness.

“You look…lonely.”

Oh, her voice was one that a songbird would envy. It reminded him of her.

Her.

She could never be as pretty as the waitress standing in front of him, now. With her dark brown eyes that were a little too bug-eyed, her thin lips, and her wavy hair that curled, refusing to tame itself, around her face.

But to him, she was his shooting star, his lantern in the darkness, his little dove. His Madhavi.

As he stared up into the waitresses' hazy blue eyes, he found some kind of understanding in them. She smiled, and held out a hand, setting her broom on a nearby booth.

“Do you care to dance?”

Luke glanced at her hand, and back up at her.

He put on a strained smile as he took it. It felt callused and strong, and she pulled him all the way to his feet. He wobbled a little, and she steadied him gently. Her eyes were hypnotizing, pulling him in.

Then, they began to dance.

Luke had never learned how to dance before, but her soft whispers and gentle nudges were all he needed to get the hang of it. Soon, they were waltzing in harmony, faces close together but eyes stretching different worlds.

When they kissed at the end of the night, it was soft and gentle. It didn’t feel like when he kissed Madhavi, that burst of euphoria and joy flooding his system. It felt bittersweet, like a wave of pain washing over him that was quelled with a rising tide of acceptance.

“I’m not looking for anything,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his cheeks.

“Neither am I,” he murmured back. His voice didn’t sound or feel like his own, no longer gravelly and destroyed, but soft and smooth. “Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

He could see her smile. It felt like nothing else. “Of course.”

As he was pulled up to the roof, Luke couldn’t help but wonder how else his night could have gone.

Usually, Luke’s nights ended in him living someone else’s life.

But sitting next to another songbird, eyes reflecting the orange and yellows of the sunset, Luke finally let himself be free.