Matchstick Girl

Evening drifted into the soft music, like a dream floating through the air. Ice had melted around the last unopened bottle, untouched.

Then Melissa, with a sudden jolt, grabbed the bottle with unexpected gusto.

Dylan intervened, half-reaching toward her. “Whoa, hey, Mel. That’s enough.”

She swatted his hand away. “I’m not driving,” she muttered. “So shut up.”

She twisted the cap urgently and downed the bottle. Some escaped down her chin, wiped away carelessly with the back of her wrist.

“…There,” she announced, reclining with exaggerated satisfaction. “Hydrated.”

Dylan’s hand turned into a gesture. “There she goes.”

“All gas, no brakes.” Yuzu shrugged.

Mel pivoted toward the group, raising her bottle towards Crow.

“Alright. This guy.”

He blinked mid-sip, startled.

“He’s sunshine in a man bun. But he’s like—like jazz. Warm, but a little sad, impossible to explain.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, that’s new.”

Melissa leaned forward, holding up a finger.

“Know how many times I wanted to quit the band? He wouldn’t let me! Said I mattered. I waved him off, said he’s too sappy. But turns out, he’s serious.”

Hinata's hand tightened around her glass as Melissa recounted memories fueled by alcohol.

Crow turned to the side, reaching into the ice bucket for a fresh can, and held it toward Hinata.

“Hey, you still good?”

Hinata nodded, meeting his gaze briefly.

Crow sensed something beneath her silence. Not the kind of quiet they'd shared before.

Dylan cracked another joke about Crow. Laughter erupted, and the table's momentum pulled Crow back. With a small, uncertain smile, he leaned into the warmth of the group once more.

Melissa laughed, swirling her bottle. “Well, that’s the bastard for you. Too good, like a clingy wife. And his hobby of feeding strays, impressive. Cats, dogs. Not sure what else.”

Dylan slapped the table, smirking. “If a vampire bit him, he’d chase it for more.”

Yuzu's jaw dropped dramatically. “Sounds like him, alright. It’d be scary if he’s not.”

The table erupted again, even drawing a muffled giggle from a passing waitress.

Hinata didn't flinch. Her fingers slowly unclenched, condensation pooling beneath them.

The cold sensation made her feel stuck beneath a frozen lake.

Images flashed: the hospital attendant, the ramen shop, the clerk's wary eyes, the cautious stares of strangers, the frightened girl, and the dog without a name.

And now, this. A table full of laughter and memories, signs of life.

She wasn’t inside the bubble. Not outside it, either. Just… hovering.

A ghost.

Crow laughed again, glancing at Hinata, hoping perhaps to share the moment.

His hand moved instinctively toward her back, hovering in mid-air.

Melissa raised her glass above the table, her voice warm and slightly slurred.

“To Crow—the best pain in the ass we've ever had.”

Yuzu eagerly clinked glasses. Dylan followed, nearly spilling his drink.

Crow laughed again, bashful but affectionate, retracting his hand to join the toast.

Hinata raised her glass quietly—barely aware she had.

— • —

The laughter eased. Crow settled back into his chair, fingers lightly gripping the drink. He shook his head, smiling sheepishly.

Melissa leaned in, elbows propped lazily, eyes glazed but still sharp with intent.

“So… Hinata, right?” she began. “You're the mystery girl, huh?”

She tilted her head toward Crow with a lazy grin. “Where’d he pick you up, anyway?”

Dylan chuckled knowingly. “In a video game?”

Yuzu eagerly leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Do you have an online account, Hinata? What's your vibe—music, hobbies?”

The table laughed warmly, attention gently turning to her.

Crow offered a sheepish smile, intervening softly, “Hey, give her a break. She’s not the talking type.”

His glance toward Hinata was gentle, an invitation rather than a demand—a silent check-in.

Hinata's gaze slowly moved around the table.

“Uhm…”

Then, she pursed her lips before she said anything.

Their warmth, their smiles, transformed into something. Melissa’s teasing. Yuzu’s curiosity. Dylan’s cool.

Faces became silhouettes, glaring at her.

“I don’t like you. Who are you anyway?”

“Are you even anything good?”

“Useless. Unreliable. Dangerous. What more?”

Then Crow.

She recalled the smirking, shadowy image that stabbed her in her dream.

Sweat formed tiny beads on her forehead.

Then—a firm grip.

“She’s good with sarcasm and right hooks,” Crow said with a smile. “We’re working on the rest.”

Hinata snapped back to the table.

Melissa laughed, retreating smugly. “Alright, alright. Mystery girl keeps her secrets,” she conceded playfully, tipping back her drink.

The moment passed. The attention drifted, as gently as it had come.

Hinata didn't smile, but her eyes slowly found Crow's, lingering longer than before. Something that held more weight than she could yet understand.

— • —

The apartment was silent.

Soft shadows curved along the walls, and the gentle amber glow of the streetlamp stretched faintly across closed blinds. The ceiling fan spun, punctuated occasionally by distant rumbles of thunder.

Hinata lay motionless on the couch.

She was still dressed from earlier. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, trapped between thoughts and feelings.

Fragments echoed back. Blurred around the edges.

Melissa's slurred laugh: “Where’d he pick you up, anyway?”

Yuzu's curious grin: “Do you have an online account, Hinata?”

Dylan’s jokes.

And Crow—an effortless part of their warmth.

And that single moment, when every eye turned to her, expecting something, she had nothing to give. No stories. No memories.

And oddly, the way Crow protected her space only made her want to stay away.

Her jaw tightened slightly. Her breaths grew shallow. Her chest barely moved.

She sat up slowly.

Her movements felt distant. Her limbs obeyed, but nothing felt hers. She straightened her jacket, tugging at the hem.

Hinata’s eyes settled on the phone lying on the coffee table, screen dark. She stared at it, then picked it up.

She touched the heart charm gently, then gripped it tight—before setting it down again.

No messages sent. No alerts. Nothing to trace.

With a breath, she moved to the door. Her fingers touched the knob, turned it halfway, then froze.

Then she opened it completely, slipping silently into the pale hallway light. The door clicked softly behind her, as if she were careful not to wake the room.

Or the boy who still believed she’d stay.