“See you,kid”

The low hum of jazz music played softly in the background, blending seamlessly with the muted conversations of the bar's regular patrons. The air smelled of whiskey, burnt wood, and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke—an old-world kind of atmosphere, the kind Kenjiro had always found strangely comforting.

He swirled the golden liquid in his glass, watching the ice cubes clink gently against the rim as he sighed. Across the counter, the bartender—an older man with graying hair and a face that had probably seen one too many drunks pour out their life stories—wiped a tumbler clean, raising an eyebrow.

"Sounds like you've got a real pain in the ass situation on your hands," the bartender muttered, his voice rough from years of smoking.

Kenjiro let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Tell me about it. The kid bailed last minute. Said he wasn't 'feeling it' anymore." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Like this is some artsy gig where you just show up when inspiration strikes. I need someone who can handle actual work, not just hold a camera and play pretend."

The bartender smirked. "That's young people for you. No grit these days."

Kenjiro huffed, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting it down with a dull thunk. "I've got a shoot lined up, no assistant, and a deadline that's tighter than my old man's wallet. If I don't find someone reliable by Monday, I'm screwed."

The bartender let out a snort. "You, my friend, need another drink."

Before Kenjiro could respond, the bar's entrance swung open with a slight creak, letting in a gust of cold air from the streets of Seon. A figure stepped inside—dressed in black from head to toe, moving with quiet efficiency as he walked straight to the back without sparing a glance at the customers.

Kenjiro barely noticed at first, too caught up in his own frustration. But the bartender's voice made him glance up.

"Oi, Arata. You're late."

The name meant nothing to Kenjiro, but the kid—young, lean, and effortlessly composed—simply grabbed an apron from behind the counter and slipped it over his head. His fingers moved quickly, tying the strings behind his back with practiced ease.

Kenjiro's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the new arrival. The kid had a presence, the kind that wasn't loud but impossible to ignore. His movements were precise, efficient, like someone who had worked a hundred different jobs and knew how to blend into every single one of them. His face was unreadable, dark eyes flicking to the bartender before picking up a notepad.

"Orders?" Arata's voice was calm, low, and almost indifferent.

The bartender grunted, rattling off a list of drinks for one of the tables. "And try not to scare the customers this time, yeah?"

Arata didn't acknowledge the comment, already moving to prepare the drinks.

Kenjiro, still watching, tilted his glass slightly in thought before turning back to the bartender. "Kid works here often?"

The bartender smirked. "Arata? Yeah, whenever he needs cash. Picks up shifts, no complaints, no questions." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Bit of an odd one, though. Works a hell of a lot for someone his age."

Kenjiro hummed, glancing back at the younger man. The way he moved, the way he handled the bar without hesitation—it was clear he wasn't new to this. He had the kind of discipline that came from experience, not just necessity.

And then, just as Kenjiro was about to turn back to his drink, out of nowhere, the kid spoke.

"You need an assistant?"

Kenjiro paused mid-sip, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at the bartender, who smirked but didn't comment. His gaze then flickered to the young man tying an apron around his waist. Arata, the bartender had called him.

"You eavesdropping, kid?" Kenjiro asked, setting his glass down with a dull clink.

Arata didn't even look up. "You were talking loud enough."

The bartender snorted. "Told you, fox ears."

Kenjiro huffed out a laugh, leaning back against the counter. "That so?" He studied Arata again, this time properly. Kid had an air about him—sharp, unreadable, but disciplined. He'd met plenty of people like him back in the States, usually the ones carrying weight on their shoulders they didn't want to talk about.

"And what, you're interested?" Kenjiro asked, swirling his drink.

Arata finally glanced at him, expression unreadable. "Depends. What's the pay?"

Kenjiro chuckled. "You sure got priorities straight, huh?" He took another sip before setting the glass down. "Pays well enough. Early mornings, long hours. You'd be dealing with a lot of setup, moving equipment, adjusting lighting, running around. It's not a glamorous gig, but it's not the worst way to make money."

Arata was silent for a moment, processing. Then, to Kenjiro's mild surprise, he nodded slightly. "Sounds doable."

Kenjiro blinked. "Wait—seriously? Just like that?"

Arata gave a half-shrug, still not looking at him. "Work is work."

The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "Told ya, this kid doesn't stop. You already got three jobs, Arata. You planning on skipping sleep altogether now?"

Kenjiro's smirked, but something about that struck a chord. "You really working that much, kid?"

Arata didn't answer, but he didn't need to.

Kenjiro let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. "Listen, I don't make a habit of hiring guys who are already running themselves into the ground. No offense, but if you're juggling that much already, you'll burn out before you even lift a light stand."

Arata didn't react. No disappointment, no argument. Just a small nod, as if he had already expected the answer. "Got it."

And that was it. No pushback, no insistence. Just a simple acknowledgment before he turned and got to work, effortlessly blending back into his role behind the counter.

Kenjiro watched him for a moment longer before shaking his head and taking another sip of his drink. "Damn, kid's got no hesitation."

The bartender chuckled. "That's Arata for you. Works his ass off, never complains. Not like the brats these days who whine when their frappuccino order takes too long." He wiped down the counter before tossing the rag over his shoulder. "Smart, too. Picks things up fast. Never asks for help, though."

Kenjiro hummed, swirling his glass. "What's his deal?"

The bartender shrugged. "Doesn't talk about it. But he's a good kid. Could've turned out a hell of a lot worse with what he's got on his plate."

Kenjiro didn't pry further, but he filed the information away. The kid had a work ethic that put most grown men to shame. No doubt there was a reason behind it.

Still, something about Arata reminded him of someone. The kind of stubborn, self-sufficient young men who carried too much on their shoulders and refused to let anyone in.

Kenjiro sighed, rubbing his temple before downing the rest of his whiskey. "Damn, this place is full of interesting people tonight."

The bartender chuckled, pouring him another round. "You have no idea."

The bar had quieted down a little, the usual buzz of conversation dimming as the night stretched on. A soft jazz tune hummed from the speakers, blending seamlessly with the occasional clatter of glasses and low murmurs of the remaining customers. Kenjiro, comfortably buzzed—maybe a little more than buzzed—leaned lazily against the counter, a new drink in hand.

"Man" he sighed, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Life's a funny thing, ain't it? One second, you think you got it all figured out, the next… poof. Gone. Just like that." He snapped his fingers, his gaze distant, lost somewhere in his memories.

Arata said nothing, methodically drying a glass with a clean rag. His posture was relaxed but precise, movements efficient. He didn't react, didn't offer anything to the conversation—just listened.

Kenjiro chuckled to himself, rolling the glass between his fingers. "I used to be someone, y'know. Back in the day, big-shot photographer in the States. Covered everything—fashion, war zones, celebrities, landscapes. You name it, I shot it." He smirked, taking another sip. "Hell, even wrote a few books. Got my face in some fancy magazines. People actually gave a shit about what I had to say."

Arata's eyes flickered briefly toward him at that. A famous photographer? He hadn't expected that. But still, he remained silent, letting the man continue his drunken monologue.

"Then, life did what it does best. Kicked me in the ass." Kenjiro exhaled, tapping a finger against his glass. "Met the most beautiful woman in the world. Ahh, she was something else. Smart, funny, always had this fire in her eyes… God, I was stupid in love with her." He laughed, but there was something heavy in it. Something old and worn. "We had a kid. Best thing that ever happened to me."

Arata slowed his movements, still drying the same glass.

Kenjiro sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "And then… life pulled the rug out again. Cancer. One moment we were planning vacations, the next, I was watching her fade away in a hospital bed." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "And suddenly, it was just me and the kid. Just us two against the world."

There was a moment of quiet. Not awkward, not forced. Just… quiet.

Arata didn't lift his gaze. He had seen this kind of grief before. The way people carried it long after the loss, the way it shaped them into something different.

He knew it all too well.

Kenjiro took another slow sip of his drink before chuckling. "Still, kid turned out great. She's got that same fire in her eyes. Keeps me on my toes. I'd be a mess without her."

Arata finally spoke, voice low, even. "Sounds like she takes after her mother."

Kenjiro blinked, then grinned. "Damn right she does."

Another lull in conversation. Arata placed the dried glass down, reaching for another, mindlessly continuing his work.

Kenjiro exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. "Damn, I'm talking too much, aren't I? You're quiet, kid."

Arata didn't look up. "Just listening."

Kenjiro chuckled. "You remind me of someone."

Arata arched an eyebrow but didn't ask who.

Kenjiro smirked, swirling the last remnants of his drink. "Anyway, I should probably get going before my daughter starts thinking I got lost on the way home." He pushed away from the bar slightly, though he wasn't exactly steady.

The bartender snorted. "You're in no shape to drive."

Kenjiro waved a hand dismissively.

Arata's gaze followed him briefly before returning to his work, his mind already moving on.

(・_・)ノ

The cold night air hit Kenjiro like a slap the moment he stepped outside. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl into the dark sky, his fingers fumbling as he pulled out a cigarette. With a practiced motion, he lit it, the warm glow briefly illuminating his slightly dazed expression.

"Perfectly capable of driving" he muttered to himself, patting his coat pockets for his car keys.

But the moment he pulled them out, they slipped right through his fingers, landing with a metallic clatter on the pavement.

Kenjiro stared at them. The keys were right there. So why the hell did they look so far away?

Before he could even attempt to crouch down, another hand reached out, picking them up with effortless ease.

Arata.

The younger boy stood there, still wearing his apron from the shift, his dark eyes unreadable as he held the keys up between his fingers.

"You sure about that?" Arata asked, his tone flat but edged with the slightest hint of skepticism.

Kenjiro exhaled a stream of smoke, watching him. "Damn kids these days. No respect for their elders."

Arata remained unimpressed. "You can barely stand straight."

Kenjiro scoffed, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I've been worse."

Arata tilted his head slightly, giving him a once-over. "That supposed to be reassuring?"

Kenjiro huffed out a laugh, rubbing his temple. "Tch. I'll call a cab."

Arata didn't move, still holding the keys. "You should."

There was a beat of silence between them, only the distant sounds of the city filling the air. Kenjiro leaned against the car, exhaling another cloud of smoke, eyes drifting up toward the sky.

"You ever think about how life just keeps messing with you?" he mused, voice rough from years of drinking and smoking. "One moment, you're on top of the world, the next, you're stuck wondering where the hell it all went wrong."

Arata didn't answer, but he also didn't walk away.

Kenjiro let out a low chuckle. "You're a good listener, kid. You ever think about working for a washed-up old man like me?"

Arata's expression didn't shift. He looked at the cigarette, the man in front of him, the weight of something unspoken in the way Kenjiro carried himself.

Then, he flicked the keys once in his hand before tossing them back. Kenjiro caught them—barely.

"I'll do it."

Kenjiro blinked. "Hah?"

"As your assistant" Arata clarified, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You need one. I need money. Seems like a fair trade."

Kenjiro's lips curled into an amused smirk. "Well, well. What happened to 'You have too many jobs already'?"

Arata shrugged. "Figure I'll drop one."

Kenjiro eyed him for a moment, as if sizing him up.

"You got experience with photography, kid?"

"No."

"You know how to assist a photographer?"

"No."

Kenjiro let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "Ah, shit. You really are something."

Arata just waited.

Kenjiro shook his head, taking another drag of his cigarette before finally sighing. "Alright, fine. But if you screw up, don't expect me to go easy on you."

Arata gave a slight nod. "Not expecting you to."

Kenjiro dug into his coat pocket, fishing out a slightly crumpled business card before handing it to Arata between two fingers.

"Here. My number's on it. Monday morning, I'll be picking you up right here, so don't keep me waiting, kid."

Arata took the card without much thought, giving it a brief glance.

Kenjiro Aikawa

Something about that name nagged at the back of his mind, like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue. Aikawa… Why did that sound familiar?

He stared at the card for a second longer before shrugging it off. Probably nothing. His brain was too tired to care.

Stuffing the card into his pocket, he gave a single nod. "Got it."

Kenjiro smirked, then turned on his heel, exhaling as he tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

"See you, kid."

Without another word, he climbed into the cab that had just pulled up, the driver already familiar with Kenjiro's habits.

Arata watched as the car pulled away, disappearing into the glowing city lights.

Then, with a small breath, he turned back toward the bar, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Just another long night.