Gary stayed.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he was enjoying himself. He stayed because leaving felt like admitting something, and admitting things had never been his strong suit. He told himself he was just taking a moment. Letting the night breathe. Letting the situation reset. None of these things were happening.

He slid onto a stool in the far corner of the pub and perched there awkwardly, nursing his pint and his pride in equal measure. The stool wobbled slightly, which felt appropriate. Everything felt a bit unstable now.

The pub seemed louder from this angle. Brighter. Less forgiving. Laughter bounced off the walls with a sharpness it hadn’t had before, as if the room had decided to remind him that it was having a better time without him. Someone shouted an order at the bar. Someone else missed a dart and swore loudly. Life continued at a pace Gary could no longer keep up with.

Across the room, he caught glimpses of her laughing again. Not cruelly. Not pointedly. Just laughing. Living her night. Talking to people who weren’t wincing every few seconds or pressing their tongue carefully against the roof of their mouth to avoid pain.

Gary looked down at his pint. It was still mostly full. Cold. Untouched. He considered finishing it out of spite, then remembered what cold liquid did to his jaw and abandoned the idea immediately.

The tooth throbbed steadily now. Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just present. Persistent. Like it had settled in and brought luggage.

This wasn’t a dramatic failure. There was no argument. No raised voices. No scene. That almost made it worse. It was quiet. Ordinary. The sort of ending nobody else would remember tomorrow.

Gary sighed, slid off the stool, and reached for his jacket.

Staying hadn’t been brave. It had just delayed the inevitable.

Leave now while you still can → Page 40