William wasn't really a drinker. He would much rather stay home after a tiring day at work and catch up on some television series. But not tonight. His heart was too heavy. He didn't feel like being home alone tonight. He didn't particularly feel like company, either. He just didn't want to be by himself. So he made his way to his favorite art bar not far from the bank.

There were more people than he expected at Museo Cafe Bar that evening. It looked like there was an exhibit ongoing. Museo did these collaborations with artists every now and then. And he guessed that night was the public opening to one of those. He didn't really feel like being around a lot of people at the moment. But William was a creature of habit, and it would be more stressful to go look for another bar. So William took to the far end of the counter and ordered himself a beer.

He looked around at the paintings that had been put up all over the establishment. He wasn't really an arts kind of guy. The reason why he frequented Museo was because most of the time, there was hardly anybody here. But the paintings tonight caught his eye, and not in a good way. If there was one word to describe the people and objects in the paintings, it would be: Wild. And it irked William. He had come to Museo for some peace, not for his senses to get accosted like this!

"Raspberry margarita." The bartender placed a bright red drink before him.

"I didn't order this," William said.

"The lady ordered it for you."

William looked across the bar and saw a woman who may have been pretty enough if it weren't for her dreadlocks, her "artsy" tattered-looking white top, and her long quilted skirt that seemed to be made up of whatever scrap cloth she could find lying around. She reminded him of the paintings. "Thank you," he said to her across the bar. "I appreciate it but I really am not in the mood for company right now."

"Don't worry," the woman said as she moved to the stool beside him. "You're not my type, either."

William shifted uncomfortably. He had always kept away from these weird artsy types. They were flighty and moody and generally unreliable. One seat away was too close. You'd never know what could be lurking in those dreadlocks. How did these people even take baths? Did these people even take baths?

"It's just that your aura is ruining the mood of my exhibition."

The statement snapped William out of his thoughts.

"You don't seem the artistic type," the woman continued. "I was just curious how you ended up here."

"Are you asking me to leave?"

"Not at all! I believe that all encounters are not coincidental, and should therefore be appreciated. I also believe that there's nothing a little raspberry cocktail can't fix."

With an inward sigh, William picked up the margarita. He raised it before her. "Cheers," he said, and took a gulp. He set the drink down on the counter. But she was still there, still looking at him.

"So, who is she?" She asked.

"W-who is who?"

"Only a woman would do this," her hand indicated William from head to toe. "To a man."

"With all due respect, it's none of your business."

"Hey, I'm presenting you with a very good opportunity here. After tonight, you wouldn't remember me and I wouldn't remember you. Am I not the perfect sounding board for your little problem?"

"And if I don't want to talk about it?"

The woman regarded William curiously. "You're, what? A bank guy? I'm assuming you're in your thirties or forties. Keep up this bottling of emotions and you'll die in a decade or less."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, the ambassador is here. Excuse me a while." And just like that, she was out of the stool and out the door. Wait, the ambassador?

William peered through the glass window and saw that it was indeed an ambassador, the French Ambassador to the Philippines, who had arrived. And he and the woman looked like they had known each other a while. Curious. Will had always assumed artists were penniless and not very well connected. Arm in arm, the woman and the ambassador entered the bar.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he heard the woman say.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Although, I must say this is a little small compared to your previous exhibitions."

"I like to keep doing the small ones, too. And isn't this a quaint little place to relax?"

"Well, you are right about that. My wife sends her apologies for not being able to come tonight. She is a big fan of your work."

"Yes, I know. She texted me that she won't be coming. But she said you two will be coming to my next one."

"Ah, yes. That one's already booked. Where was it going to be again?"

"Hong Kong. End of the month."

"Right, right. Ah, but she made me promise to buy one of your paintings tonight for her."

"Oh, I know just the one she'd like."

William had never really looked around at the type of guests in Museo that night. Curious, he looked around. The ambassador wasn't the only high profile guest she had. She had a lot of diplomats as guests, but also directors and business people. Interesting. She wasn't the typical artist he had in mind. Although, she still looked like one, and the dreadlocks still bothered him.

He looked at the paintings again. Wild. Still wild.

"Sorry about that!" She was back on the stool beside him before he knew it, which surprised him a little.

"I thought you were going to be busy now."

"Oh, just in spurts. You have to welcome each of them personally. I mean, they've been my clients and patrons for years."

"... She's a colleague."

"Hm?"

William indicated himself from head to toe. "The woman who did this to me."

"Ah. Unrequited love?"

"I guess you could say that. So, you're an artist."

She gestured at the paintings around them. "I suppose that's pretty obvious. What do you think of my work?"

"...Wild. But I suppose I'm not the best person to ask for a critique. As you said, I'm not the artistic type."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not asking for a critique. I was just asking what you thought. Wild, huh."

William nodded. "Take that painting of that dancer over there, for example. The one near the fire."

"The shamanic priestess."

"She's dancing without regard to her surroundings."

"She's giving herself over to the dance. She's in a trance. She's in ecstasy."

"She's going to burn herself."

The woman looked at him flatly. "You're no fun."

"No, I'm not." He took a sip of his beer and looked forward at the bar, trying to ignore her. She was quiet, but he could feel her presence beside him still. He ventured to look at her. She seemed to be lost in thought. "You wouldn't describe them as such?" William asked.

"It's more 'free' than 'wild' for me, actually. But I suppose it would look wild from the point of view of someone like you."

"What's someone like me?"

"Oh, you know…"

"Boring?"

"Structured."

"Structured, huh." William took another sip of beer. "How long have you been painting?"

"Ever since I could remember. How long have you known your colleague?"

William paused. So, she was going to dig a little deeper. "Since she started working at the bank around six years ago. She was responsible and reliable. And very driven."

"That… sounds like a very good employee."

William smirked. "Those were traits that were important to me. Pretty was all well and good but, for a wife, I wanted someone I could rely on."

"Wow, you were thinking of marrying her already as early as then?"

"I don't see the point of dating someone if I'm not at least a little interested in marrying her. I mean, what's the point?"

"As expected of a structured bank executive."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all. I actually have a friend who's kind of like you. But we recently convinced her to do something really absurd but exciting. And I'm actually quite curious as to how that's progressing. Anyway, do continue."

"Do you actually derive pleasure from the sob stories of other people?"

"Maybe I do."

"Well, stop it. I will not be your entertainment for the evening."

"Oh, don't be like that. You already opened your door a bit, and now you're closing it on me. Stop being coy."

"Who's being coy?"

The woman rested her chin on her hand and leaned on the counter. She flashed him a smirk. "You're not used to people talking like this to you, are you?"

William rolled his eyes. "I try to avoid your type as much as I can." No point in trying to be civil with this woman.

"And what type would that be?"

"... Artists."

"But you're in an art bar."

"That's normally devoid of artists most days for some reason."

"Let me guess. Because you think we're flighty and moody. Too unreliable for the structured bank executive."

"Yes. Are you offended enough to leave me alone now?"

To his surprise, the woman burst out laughing. And her laugh wasn't bitter or condescending. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. She was delighted with this conversation!

"... I'm guessing that's a no."

The woman stopped laughing and looked at him kindly. And in a more sombre tone, she said. "She didn't like you back."

Surprisingly, he didn't find her statement particularly offensive. In fact, he was beginning to appreciate her perceptiveness. He shook his head. "She has a boyfriend now." He let out a bitter laugh. "And here I was thinking she's the type to appreciate a level-headed responsible -structured- man."

"... And she went and fell for a pretty face…" The woman ventured to guess.

Flashes of her social media post of her first date with her new boyfriend flashed through his mind. The woman before him was spot on, and the only thing William could do was shrug and take another swig of his beer. He felt that if he said anything more at this point, he might just break into tears. He supposed the woman was right. Though it felt awkward to be talking about it, he felt a little better letting it out. It made him feel a little less alone to have to deal with it. The woman had remained quiet for a while. William ventured to look her way and saw her looking at him with eyes that were on the verge of tears. "H-hey, what's with that…"

"Can I hug you?" She said suddenly.

"N-no!"

But she embraced him anyway. "Uugh~ I'm so sorry!" She wailed as she hugged him tightly.

"W-why are you sorry?"

"Because it's so saaaad!" She wailed.

"Hey, people are watching."

"There, there. It's okay to cry."

"You're the one crying, though." He tried extracting himself from her, but the woman was stronger than she looked. "Can you maybe let go of me now."

"It's okay," she said between sniffs while patting his back. "It's okay. Just remember, you're still desirable. You're still valuable. You still deserve love."

The fight seemed to leave him at her words. How did she know he felt undesirable after that? How did she know he felt like he had little value after he had tried valiantly to catch the attention of the girl he liked only to see that she never even noticed him? How did she know that he felt he wasn't worthy of…

He pulled himself away from her.

"I do not need your sympathy," he said, maybe a little harshly.

"That's not going to stop me from giving it."

"Aren't you ever offended?"

"Of course, I am. Just not right now. Just not with you."

"Why not?"

"Probably because I'm not in love with you or anything. And also probably because your reactions are so amusing."

William sighed. "So I have become tonight's entertainment."

"Hey, but I need sympathy."

"Hm? Why is that?"

"I'm upset. Can't you see I'm crying?"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours."

"What? You asked for my story!"

"It's still your fault. Take responsibility."

"Artists." William muttered under his breath. But he turned to the bartender and said, "One raspberry margarita."

The bartender promptly complied.

"Here," William said as he set the drink before her. "I'm sure it's nothing a raspberry cocktail wouldn't fix."

The woman wiped a tear and smiled. "You learn fast," she said as she took the margarita.

"So I've been told."

"I'm Max, by the way."

"How apt."

Max laughed her delighted laugh. And William couldn't help but smile.

"Will."

"And you seem to have so much of it."

"Not as much tonight, as it happens."

"Really? Well then, maybe I should take advantage of tonight to convince you to accompany me to this art opening next week."

"I'm not really an arts kind of guy."

"Who says I'm bringing you along for the art?"

"Ah, am I going to be the evening's entertainment again?"

"Do you dislike the prospect?"

"... Not particularly," he replied honestly.

Max stood up suddenly, margarita in hand. "Oh, can you hear that? I love this song! Come dance with me."

"I came here to sulk. Not celebrate. I'll pass."

She pouted at him but left for the middle of the room, where she proceeded to rally her guests to join her in a whirling dance not unlike the priestess in her painting.

He had to admit, there was a certain draw to the way she danced with such reckless abandon. I will enjoy the world, it seemed to say. The world will not take my joy. He would never allow himself to let go like that. His need for control would never allow him. But it wouldn't hurt to watch. By proxy, it would allow him the release he would forever deny himself. He watched as she moved through the room, her skirt billowing as she twirled in delight. Wait, her skirt...

William stood up. At that moment, she stepped on the hem of her skirt and tripped, her drink flying from her hand as she tipped backward.

"Woops!" She exclaimed as she fell... right into William's outstretched arm. With his other hand, he calmy caught the falling cocktail.

"And this is why I don't go for that reckless abandon nonsense. People could get hurt."

A cheering suddenly erupted from around them. Some of the guests clapped his back, seemingly to indicate his having done a good job. Something told him this wasn't the first time this happened.

Max laughed. "And these little moments are what I do it for. You must admit, it's a nice little story."

"You're too trusting. And too spontaneous."

"Am I now?"

"You need a little structure in your life," he said as he drank what remained of her margarita, her delighted laughter ringing in his ears.

-----