— mercury is in retrograde. which means: it's technically not your fault why you're dialing your ex's number (and it's not even past eleven pm).
you're a little tipsy, which makes it slightly better, and it's definitely going to help you pretend that you won't regret paying for the international fare when you've already tapped his damned digits.
halfway into doing so, "why do i still remember his number?"
all these months, you still remember. it's stupid, really.
he won't pick up, of course. he always sucked at doing that while you were dating. you wouldn't even be surprised if he's blocked you, as he's a bitter person, or changed his number, or even—
he picks up.
you're humming a little to yourself, expecting a much longer ringing, but no.
it wasn't like that.
you hear a steady stream of spanish through the speakers. you jump, causing the liquid in the glass in your hand to spill a little.
"fuck."
you put it down on your nightstand, finally focusing on the phone.
"i didn't quite catch that." you say, "who is this?"
"sorry." a voice, that you very much recognize comes through.
"i was excusing myself from mikey from the meeting for a minute."
"ah, mikey." you say, unsteady. feels like the rug has been ripped and not pulled under you. with your expectations wrecked, "it's no emergency. you don't have to."
"no, no. it's not a problem." you heard footsteps. it reminded you of how you used to make fun of how he stomped everywhere.
"okay..." you say, trying to stop yourself from smiling too much. "how are you?"
"alright." he says. it's what he always used to say, every. fucking. time.
the surprising thing was, the both of you sounded strangely normal. you were pretty sure that rindou, ever so oblivious, can't hear the slight slur in your voice.
"how about you? how's the new job?"
"not bad." you say. it's honest. considering the fact that you felt numb after the breakup, like a vessel that had been emptied out only to be filled with misery. now, you've filled the void that he left with work, friends, food, and yourself. the little things.
you've been working with yourself; you guess that this mere phone call is a proof that there are some cracks in the foundation you've built over time.
you sigh, "i didn't realize you knew about the existence of my new job. it's great. it pays me enough and it'll help me move to a new apartment—closer to downtown."
"that's nice. i liked the old one better, though." he says mindlessly.
then why did you leave it? why did you leave me?
you wanted to scream at him, but instead of doing so, you swallowed the bitterness at the tip of your tongue and asked about the topic that you could think of at the moment.
"what about you? how's "business" in madrid?" and of course. he has a lot to say about that, his boss, his annoying older brother, and the department under his leadership.
"and the pay is good, of course." he finally finishes, not as enthusiastic as he was before back in japan.
"still so obsessed." you judge. "nothing but chaos on the brain."
