The Stalker.

In the harsh light of the bar sat a man on a barstool. He smoothly swept back his dark hair every once in awhile, his fingers drawing circles on the wooden counter, but never said a word when the barman passed him. He just lifted his head and nodded to him as if they had known each other for far too long. The barman turned around to a cabinet and pulled out a half empty whiskey bottle. He took a glass, placed it softly before the man on the barstool without making any noise, and poured the whiskey in it. His eyes never left the glass he was filling, not even when new people walked in the bar and nodded to him. The whiskey and the man on the barstool were more important to him.

The new people placed themselves at some rickety tables without even taking off their coats. They did not order anything, they just sat there. Waiting for someone to bring some life into the bar and some music in the air.

Not soon after the man on the barstool had swallowed his first sip of whiskey a man appeared upon the small stage and placed himself behind a black old Weber grand piano. His fingers touched the keys so softly that it seemed as if he was touching his lover, but then he began to play and the bar was filled with soft notes of melody. His voice soon joined and the words were so soft that the man on the barstool could hear his heart beat in his chest. The whole bar was silent, for they had all come for the pianist. They had all come to listen and not to talk and fill the air with their loud voices.

The man on the barstool took another sip from his whiskey, but his face fell when he recognized the words the pianist was singing. For those were the words of a song he had so often listened to. So thus he turned his gaze away from the pianist and decided to stare at the mirror above the bar. In its gruesome reflection he could make out a womanly figure, sitting behind him on a purple chair. Her hair and face were all too familiar for him and when she took a drag from her long cigarette he could feel the longing in his heart. But he could fight the urge of running towards her. He stayed in his seat, silently watching her.

His whiskey felt lost in his hand while he studied her. Her lips were painted red and the white long cigarette in her hand had her lip marks on it. The gleam in her brown eyes told him that she also recognized the song, but her face did not show any pain as his did. She only looked at the pianist. Following his skilled fingers with her eyes. Never turning her head towards him while some blond locks escaped from her finger weaved bun.

The man on the barstool didn't know that he had lifted his finger to the barman until the man's harsh voice disturbed the soft melody of the pianist.

"You haven't finished your last one yet, sir," the barman said while already turning away from the man on the barstool, but the man stopped him.

"It's not for me. It's for the lady," he whispered softly. The barman lifted up his eyebrows in a curious expression, but when he saw the woman his eyes turned dark and he shook his head.

"You promised me you wouldn't do this anymore. You promised me you would stop this," the barman said, anger evident in his voice but not scaring the man on the barstool. He only smiled and took another sip from his whiskey, never letting his eyes leave the face of the barman.

"This is the last time, I promise you."

The two man looked at each other for a few seconds while the pianist could again be heard by them. His voice was harder than at the beginning of the song. More emotions were filling the air and it hurt the man on the barstool.

"What may it be then, for this last time?" the barman eventually grunted, the man in front of him only now having finished his whiskey and replying with a small grin on his face.

"Surprise her."

The barman snorted, while the man on the stool only turned his gaze away and laid what money he had on the counter. He then stood up and walked over to the table behind the woman and sat there silently.

He could smell her rich perfume, but the smell of her cigarettes was stronger. He could hear her inhale the smoke and blow it out again as she had done so many times before. If he stretched out his hand he could touch her neck. Feel her warm skin beneath his fingers and feel her curls escape his grasp.

He knew the song was nearly at his end and he saw the barman walking towards her. The drink in his hand was as red as her painted lips. He saw her look up, but not at the least surprised. She thanked the barman with a nod of her head, but did not let him speak. He knew she only wanted to hear the voice of the pianist. She had always loved the pianist more than him.

She took a sip and another drag from her cigarette, his gaze never leaving her face. He never spoke to her. He only looked at her as he had done so many times before. As he only could.

The drink before her was soon forgotten and when the song was at his end, he knew that this was the last time he would see her.

And with his last painful look he turned away his head and left the bar without any hesitation. For he knew this truly was the last time he would watch her from a distance. This truly was the last time he would stalk her.

AN: So this I my very first English one-shot! Don't be too hard on me if you find any grammar mistakes, because my native language is not English but Dutch!
I did have a Beta, the wonderful MyWeirdWorld! Who helped me with this little story.

Please tell me what you think of this one-shot in a review! (:

Love,
Jade