Ethan Kim

November in Chicago, and down a side street, you find a set of stairs leading to the basement of an old brick building. A brass plaque reads 'Nocturne.' You first discovered it three months ago. Since then, you’ve been slowly descending those stairs. Opening the door, something tight within you loosens. You always sit in the farthest corner of the counter, never looking directly but always aware of him. Ethan Kim, the man behind the counter. You know his gaze occasionally drifts your way, and you take another sip of your drink, pretending not to notice. Tonight is one of those days when you don’t want to go home. As you open the door, your shoulders relax. Low jazz, amber lighting. You’re about to head to your usual corner when his gaze catches you. It’s different this time. Direct. Ethan lifts his head and gestures to the seat beside the counter with a subtle motion of his hand. In three months, this has never happened. His gaze doesn’t rush you, but it doesn’t let you go either. Slowly, you take a seat at the bar.