The night was young and full of secrets. The air carried a cool, crisp whisper, as if the wind itself knew the weight of the day. Above, stars glittered like distant diamonds, while the gentle rustle of leaves added a calming rhythm to the chaos that had unfolded. It felt like the longest, most chaotic day was finally drawing to a close — a day packed with drama, betrayal, and relentless emotion.
At exactly 9 PM, Michael found himself standing in front of Glovid's Tavern. The place pulsed with life — neon lights bathed the street in color, and the thumping bass of Wizkid's Ojuelegba bled into the night air, inviting anyone within earshot to forget their troubles. Michael looked up at the building, his legs aching, his mind spinning. He had wandered for forty-five minutes from the hotel, and now, at last, he stood still — tired, broken, and searching for a reason not to fall apart.
He needed an escape — something, anything to take his mind off the chaos that had unfolded just hours earlier. What he had discovered at the hotel still echoed in his head, loud and unforgiving. It was the kind of secret that didn't just shake a person — it shattered them. And right now, Michael needed the burn of liquor more than he needed answers.
He made his way to the bar, his steps heavy and his face unreadable.
"Give me your best liquor," he said, his voice low and worn.
The bartender gave him a glance, then reached under the counter, pulling out a bottle of Jameson Black Barrel. He poured a shot, neat and smooth.
"I've seen you here before," the bartender said casually. "You came in a few months back with that girl… Tosin, right? You a friend?"
Michael paused, the glass just inches from his lips. His heart skipped for a second — not because of the question, but because of the memory. This was that bar. The same one Tosin had dragged him to after his first school match — the night they laughed, drank, and felt invincible —at least before it got ugly.
The weight of nostalgia hit him hard, but he wasn't ready to unpack it. Not here. Not now.
He swallowed the shot in one go.
"No," he lied.
He emptied the glass of liquor in one swift motion.
"Another," he said, setting it down. "Keep it coming."
The bartender didn't argue. He poured him shot after shot, watching with quiet concern as Michael slipped deeper into numbness. By the fifth round, the liquor had dulled his senses, and his eyes were hazy with exhaustion and emotion.
Michael stumbled off the stool and drifted to the dance floor, letting the pounding music drown out the thoughts clawing at his mind. His limbs moved without rhythm, without care. Just motion —chaotic and free.
Eventually, he slumped onto the nearest couch, body heavy, mind blank. The liquor had done its work.
At least for tonight… there would be no Rachel. No Tosin. Just silence.
The afternoon sun filtered lazily through the tinted windows of the bar. The warmth in the air wrapped around Michael as he stirred awake. He was lying on a green couch tucked away at the far end of Glovid's Tavern.
His head pounded. He blinked a few times, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before, but everything past the second shot was a blur. Fuzzy memories. Just noise and lights.
He sat up slowly, confused, and noticed a red blanket draped over him. The scent was familiar. Too familiar… where had he smelt it before?
Before he could make sense of it, he spotted the bartender from the night before walking toward the exit, likely done with his shift.
"Hey! Wait up," Michael called out, his voice hoarse.
"Hey um… bro, who put this over me? Is it yours?" Michael asked, holding up the red blanket.
The bartender shook his head. "Nah, man. Probably hers."
He gestured toward a girl sitting at the counter, nose deep in a book. Michael's eyes narrowed. Of course—it was Tosin. Who else would've tracked him down here?
"Alright, thanks bro."
Michael headed her way. She didn't flinch, didn't glance up—just kept her eyes buried in the pages, pretending he wasn't there.
"Are you stalking me?"
"And why in the world would I stalk you? Of all people." She sighed.
"You followed me here."
"How much did you drink last night?"
"That's not the question."
She closed the book and stood, facing him squarely.
"Clearly, you're sober—but still not thinking straight. Newsflash Michael, I work here, Wednesdays and weekends. I definitely didn't come here to see you. The world doesn't revolve around you. The sooner you figure that out, the better."
He stood there, dumbfounded, feeling like a complete fool. What was he even saying? She was probably the one who covered him with the blanket — and this was how he repaid her? God, what is wrong with me? he thought.
"If there's nothing else," Tosin said coldly, without even looking at him. "You can drop my blanket on the couch before you leave. Door's that way," pointing toward the exit.
Embarrassed and ashamed, he walked back to the couch, gently placed the blanket down, and made his way to the door. Before stepping out, he turned around.
"I'm sorry, T... for everything."
He left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Tosin walked over to the couch, picked up the blanket, and held it close. His scent still lingered on the fabric, and for a second, a tear nearly escaped her eye. She missed him more than she cared to admit. Folding it carefully, she returned it to her locker, then slipped quietly back to work.
By midnight, the city had fallen into a hush. The streets were calm, windows aglow with faint light, curtains drawn against the night. Glovid's Tavern had begun its nightly close. A few minutes later, Tosin stepped out, locking the door behind her, the click echoing in the silence.
She slipped the keys into her bag and started walking toward the next street. The night was quiet, save for her footsteps. That's when she saw him—Michael—standing under the dim glow of a streetlight, a few feet ahead.
Surprised, she looked away, pretending not to notice. She kept walking, her pace steady.
"T, hold up. Can we talk?" he called out, trailing after her.
She didn't stop.
"Please… just hear me out," he said, desperation in his voice.
She finally paused, sighing softly as she waited for him to catch up. He jogged to her side, breathing heavily, searching her face for any softness.
"Do you have some water?"
She reached into her bag and pulled out a half-full bottle of water. Without a word, she tossed it to him. He caught it clumsily and twisted the cap open.
"Thank you," he said between breaths.
He downed the water in one go and tossed the bottle into a nearby trash bin. His eyes met hers again, softer this time.
"You cut your hair... it's different. I love it."
Her hair had been trimmed into a curled pixie undercut, clean and sharp, styled to effortless perfection.
She tilted her head slightly. "Why did you wait?"
"I couldn't let you walk these streets alone tonight. Someone has to protect you."
She chuckled, a little bitter, a little amused. "And that someone is you? Please. You'd probably get winded halfway through a fight. Besides I do this every week… Alone."
"Maybe," he smirked, "but you won't beat me so easily. I won't let you."
Then her expression shifted, more serious. "What's the real reason you waited?"
He glanced at the dim streetlights, then at the blur of passing cars. His gaze finally rested on her.
"I wanted to talk. It's been a while… and I've missed you. A lot."
She folded her arms. "Well, this isn't exactly the time or place. It's late. Your mom's probably worried sick."
"I don't care," he said coldly. "She can go to hell for all I care."
Tosin narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me you two still haven't worked things out."
"I thought we had," he muttered. "But now we're back to square one. I haven't been home since Friday morning… and I lost my phone at the pub."
"Great," she said, drenched in sarcasm.
He hesitated, then asked, "Am I welcome to crash at your place? Just for tonight."
She stopped mid-step and gave him a hard stare. For a moment, he thought she'd say no. But then…
"Alright," she sighed. "We can talk about your issues over some tea. Besides, you seriously need a bath. You reek of alcohol."
He managed a weak smile. "Thanks."
"As we walk, you can start explaining whatever mess is going on with you and your mom," she added. "It's a long way to my place. Might as well make it count."
He nodded slowly. "Well… it's a long story."
It was a fifteen-minute walk to Tosin's place. She unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting Michael in.
"Wow," she said, "Honestly, I never saw this coming. Your family might just be crazier than mine."
"Tell me about it," Michael muttered as he shut the door behind him. Looking around impressed, he said. "Beautiful place you've got, girl. What about your aunt? She asleep?"
"Nope. She's out of town for the weekend. I've got the whole place to myself."
"Nice."
She tossed her backpack onto the couch and made her way to the kitchen.
"The bathroom's on your left," Tosin said, heading for the kitchen. "Go take a shower. I'll put the teapot on. There are some men's clothes in my aunt's closet—I'll grab you something before you're done. Cool?"
"Alright. Thanks," he replied with a grateful nod, disappearing into the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he emerged freshly showered and changed into the clothes she'd laid out. The scent of food drew him into the kitchen, where Tosin was busy stirring a pot on the stove.
"What are you making?" he asked.
"Spaghetti," she said without turning.
"You serious? That's my favorite."