A/N: This is some late-night rubbish that I wrote so I'm sorry if you find it ridiculous. Once again, this is a homosexual couple, blah blah blah, hence all homophobes should turn away now.

I stepped into the dimly-lit bar. It smelled strongly of cigarettes, alcohol and broken dreams. It was almost completely empty, except for a few lonely souls hunched over their drinks, or passed out over the tables.

I walked past a few tables toward the front of the bar. There was a young woman at one table who looked about 18, with mascara-stained tears on her cheeks. At another table a middle aged man was dead to the world, drooling onto the table with a knocked over pint of lager next to him. The whole room had this miserable atmosphere.

I sat on one of the bar stools and asked for a glass of water. I sighed. Halfway through my drink, I asked the bartender to keep them coming. That was when I heard a giggle. I looked up. Two stools away from me, a guy was stifling a laugh. He was looking at me.

"Um, can I help you?" I said.

The guy stopped himself and spoke, "I'm sorry, it's just..." he glanced at my drink then back at me. "Have something more interesting than plain water, why don't you?"

I stared at him incredulously.

"I mean, I'm not saying water sucks, it's just... boring."

"Boring?" I repeated. Who was this guy, randomly coming up to me and telling me that my drink of choice was boring?

"Yeah. Life is short. You gotta try new things. Live a little," he had a point. The glass of water seemed to reflect my life perfectly. Boring. Finishing school, getting a job as a teacher, marrying your girlfriend, having her nag at you all the time, paying bills...

"Here, try this," the stranger slid his glass over to me, shifting to a closer seat at the same time. I had always been saliva-conscious, and I wouldn't even let my wife share drinks with me. But for some reason, I looked into this stranger's eyes and immediately took a big gulp of whatever that was. It burned my throat, but tasted sweet. So this is living.

I smiled. So did he. I felt less empty inside, as if there was a meaning to my existence. And this was it.
Three drinks later, I had gotten to know this guy a lot better. His name was Jay, and he was a year older than me. He recently started teaching too, like me. He came to the bar because he had recently been fired from his new teaching job. He didn't go into details why, but he said that he didn't regret what happened. He told me that he never felt regret. And that I should never feel regret either.
I told him about myself too. I told him how I hated my job, how I was living in emptiness. How I felt my life was going nowhere. I was worried I would sound like some annoying person who always complained, but Jay listened to me the whole time, actually caring about what I had to say.
By then we were both completely drunk, and I couldn't really remember the details.

I did remember getting into a cab with him, and going back to his house.

And I remembered love. I definitely remembered feeling love.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room. It looks small and quite cluttered, but overall feels quite cosy. I roll over in the small bed and find Jay lying next to me, still asleep. It takes me a few seconds to realise that we are both completely bare.

Hurriedly, I gather my clothes, and put them on. I can't find my tie but then decide to leave it. I have to get out of here before-

I stop. Before what? I look at Jay, still in deep sleep. I ponder over what I should do. What do people usually do after a one-night-stand? Stay and have breakfast? I doubt it. In movies, people run away, leaving no trace of ever being there. But... what if I don't want to run?

For a moment I forget that I'm married, and, as far as I knew 24 hours ago, straight. I decide that it would be best to leave.

As I turn the doorknob, praying to God no one was out there, I hear Jay mumble something. He stirs in his sleep, but doesn't wake up. Sighing, I let my hopeless romantic self get the best of me. I find a piece of paper, some electricity bill or something. I pick up the red teacher's marking pen I find on a desk and write:


I place the paper back onto the table, feeling satisfied. I take one last look at the man lying in the bed, before finally leaving the house.