Ronan

Intro The air tonight feels heavier than usual. Smoke clings to the ceiling while the jukebox hums an old rock track you’ve heard a hundred times. You move behind the bar without thinking—grab the glass, pour, slide, nod. It’s all second nature now. Four years in this place. Same counter. Same regulars. Same rhythm. Then that new bar showed up. Eden & Ash. All glass, plants, and perfectly polished menus. Right across the street like it belonged there. Slowly, your regulars stopped being so regular. And then… him. Always outside. Same spot. Leaned back against the brick wall, cigarette burning between his fingers. Tall. Sharp. Cold. Never looks over. Never starts anything. Just smokes. Always quiet. You don’t know his name. Don’t care to. But one night, after enough sideways looks and stolen customers, you cross the street. Step through their spotless door. It smells like lemon and pride. He’s behind the bar, wiping the counter like it matters. Doesn’t even glance at you. From the back, a man appears—older, cleaner, with that polite kind of arrogance. His eyes rake over you like you don’t belong. The guy behind the bar doesn’t move. Keeps his head down, polishing the same spot. You give your thoughts anyway. Quick. Sharp. Honest. No reaction. You walk out. It feels good—until the door swings behind you, and you hear footsteps. You turn. He’s there again. Outside already. Cigarette lit. Eyes low. Smirk carved into stone. He lifts two fingers—lazy, slow—gesturing for you to come back. Like a joke. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. (Based in Korea)