06_Pints and Pixels

I was incredibly cold to Kevin after our conversation. I fumed and brooded over his statement: ‘I didn’t think that someone like you would have a boyfriend.’ What did he mean by that?

It was 5:45pm on a Thursday afternoon when I marched up to John’s desk in the office to ask, “John– am I ugly?”

John hadn't even had a chance to look up from packing his things for the end of the day; when he faced me, his face was scrunched, recoiling from my question, “What? Why? No!”

“You sure? ‘Cause I think someone just called me ugly?”

John looked positively perplexed and reached for his orange water bottle nervously, unscrewing it while asking, “What? Who?”

“Kevin,” I couldn’t hide my disdain, “I think Kevin just called me ugly.”

“What– why? What were you even talking about?”

Zac, who had been walking by, turned to join the conversation with amusement. “What’s up, Miyu? You look distressed.”

“Zac– am I ugly?”

Zac now also wore the same confused expression as John, “What? No, you donut. Why are you asking?”

“I think Kevin called me ugly.”

“What?” Zac raised his eyebrows, smirking, “Miyu… What did you do?”

His sheepish response bristled me slightly. I didn’t even do anything this time– I just existed and Kevin called me ugly! Unprompted! How is it my fault that I’m ugly? I didn’t ask him to notice or perceive me; thank you very much.

I explained the situation from lunch to both of them; from Kevin dropping his sandwich right to the conversation we had outside the office. Zac and John laughed at all the appropriate moments until I told them of Kevin’s last thought: he didn’t think that someone like me would have a boyfriend.

“Miyu, don’t be dense–” said Zac, shaking his head. “He doesn’t think you’re ugly.”

“Then why would he say that someone like me couldn’t get a boyfriend? If I am not ugly, then it must be because I have a terrible personality.” I started panicking; it’s because Kevin knows that I have terrible thoughts about him, isn’t it? I did yell at him earlier for not following my instructions.

“Maybe he was trying to hit on you?” offered John thoughtfully. Zac nodded in agreement while I scoffed at his suggestion.

“Yes, because insulting me with, ‘I don’t think someone like you could get a boyfriend’ is a wonderful way to win my affection. Maybe he could also say that I was fat and ugly and useless and that would make me swoon.” My counter sounded bitter and resentful.

Careful, your self-loathing is showing.

John offered an exaggerated shrug while Zac sighed with exasperation.

“Miyu, you just don’t understand the inner mechanisms of a man,” said Zac unhelpfully.

“Does anyone understand the inner mechanism of man?” asked John, also unhelpfully, “Anyways, Miyu– pub?”

With that, it was suddenly 6:00pm on Thursday Pub Day and we all collectively sighed for all different reasons. Zac sauntered off to do whatever Associates needed to do after working hours while John and I left for the pub.

I’ve always enjoyed my conversations with John, he’d joined a couple months before I did and we became acquainted throughout the year over our mutual love for pints, meaningless philosophical debates, and inappropriate humour. After a lengthy discussion on whether or not we both suffered from some sort of hyperactive disorder, we went outside to smoke.

“Y’know,” John started, “maybe Kevin was genuinely trying to hit on you.”

I scowled as I took a gulp from my glass, “Oh yeah? And how many girls have you gotten from insulting them?”

John shook his head while exhaling, wearing that same exasperated expression as Zac did in the office. “What if it wasn’t meant to be taken as an insult, more sort of like…” He contemplates his thoughts as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “Being mean to the girl you like.”

I wrinkled my nose in disappointment, I was hoping for some sort of breakthrough. “And exactly how would calling me ugly make me like you more? Like, how would that work?”

My mind had become incredibly hazy, did Kevin even say that? Well, who cares– Kevin has now called me ugly and I am going to feel sorry for myself for the rest of the evening. John shook his head again, defeated and we dived into another existential conversation about whether or not we enjoyed architecture and the meaning of life.

My limit had always been two drinks; given my habit to skip lunch, I often drank on an empty stomach after work. I called it, economical drinking and it doesn’t take much for me to feel the hit.

“I have to catch my train in like, 40 minutes?” said John, a signal for home time. “Are you going to the station?”

“Yeah…” my head swayed a little, I shuffled to look at John’s phone in his hand for the time; 8:40pm– time goes by far too quickly when you're in good company.

“Last smoke?” I reached for my packet; though when I opened it, it was empty. “Shit– can I bum one off you?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec’,” he reached into his coat pocket and came back with a packet of tobacco, half empty sticks of filter tips, and at least two packets of rolling papers in his clutches. Everything was covered in loose bits of tobacco, and sticks of filters and stray papers flit to the ground. If this man was a final boss in a video game, he would drop smoking paraphernalia, and maybe Russian novels as rewards. I watched him lick the paper, the whole edge wet from his saliva and looked away; he’s letting me bum one off him and here I am, judging how moist the cigarette is. God, I am so ungrateful.

But look how WET it is… Are you seriously going to smoke that?

Beggars can’t be choosers. Anyways, why are you always so ungrateful?

I’m not TRYING to be but like… LOOK AT IT. It’s more spit than ‘baccie.

John noticed my discomfort and instantly tucked it behind his ear, “You can have the next one.” I nodded gratefully at his reassurance, embarrassed that I’d even given off the impression that I was weary of it. How can everyone just read what I am thinking?

We smoked as we walked to the station, still chattering about everything and nothing. By the time we arrived and gave our good bye hugs and ‘see you next Tuesday’, I was very much tipsy. The familiar warmth of alcohol pumped through my veins. I always felt good after talking with John, he humoured all conversation no matter how absurd and I could let my thoughts run wild. I enjoyed our back-and-forths and laughing; I didn’t second guess myself as often with John.

If someone had cut me at that moment, I believed I’d bleed confidence in the colour of molten gold.

“Don’t think too much about what Kevin said, okay?” John said while patting me on the shoulder, “people say he’s a bit weird anyways so, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Yeah– I know right? He checks himself out during Teams calls and I’m like, what sort of person does that? And it’s not just a ‘oh, I look nice today’. No– it’s a full on ‘I’m Sexy and I know it’ sort of thing! Like he actually will actually smile and flex and like,” I demonstrated the Kevin expression and flexed at John, “Like, what is that?! Who just looks at themselves for that long and thinks, Oh yeah, I’m Adonis. And during a meeting? So weird..”

My head swung wildly as I babbled all of this. I wanted to know what sort of person Kevin was, the same way I wanted to understand what sort of person Kevin thought I was. The absurdity of it all, how can someone like their own reflection that much? And why did I find it so fascinating?

John laughed heartedly, so much so that other pedestrians started looking at us, but I didn’t care– we were having fun.

“I don’t know man, maybe he just thinks he’s really really handsome?” As ran his hand through his own shoulder length hair.

And for a brief moment, I realised that John looked great. Handsome almost. Although his hair needed a wash if he’d tie it up in a ponytail, he would look like a 17th century Regency aristocrat. A Mr. Darcy if you will, if Mr. Darcy also drank a lot of beers and stayed up far too late working on his portfolio.

John was going back to University soon for his Master’s in Architecture, so if you looked very closely at him– you could see how the late nights were treating him. They were beating the shit out of him.

I was swaying a little as we stood outside the train station, “maybe, who knows– God, I wish I was that confident.” It was a confession, the sort that you shouldn’t say aloud. I was clearly drunk now, spilling my inner thoughts for everyone to see. “Anyways, text me when you get home and… I’ll see you next week!”

John looked a little pensive, as if hesitating on something. Our gazes lingered for a second too long maybe before he gave his signature nod and little salute as he walked away, “See you next week, comrade.”

John was susceptible to accidentally using communist language.

The journey home was uneventful; I read on the train back without absorbing a single word and then made the usual walk home. I looked at the basement pub where I’d first met Josh, I haven’t been since that night. My thigh tingled a little from when he grabbed me. I wonder if he’d returned, if he remembers me. I wondered what sort of person I was for him.

I heated up the plate of dinner that’d been left for me and made my way up to my room. It was late enough that no one was around to demand an explanation but also early enough that I didn’t need to explain myself. I gave my acknowledgements that I was home as I passed my parents’ room and heard a faint ‘okay’ from Mummy over the sound of the TV.

Daddy pattered out to see me, “There’s soup and apple in the fridge, make sure you eat them also.” And before I could reply, he’d already disappeared into the bathroom– leaving me alone on the dark landing. I shrugged a little and continued making my way up the second flight of stairs to my bedroom.

I settled at my desk with my food and the desk lamp and PC came on. I never liked having the main lights on; the world always felt softer when dark. Or when I don't have my glasses on. Or when I am tipsy.

I fell into my usual routine; I ate dinner whilst watching something mindless on Youtube and scrolling through any notifications I missed while I was out and at work. I texted John to say I was home and scrolled down the list; I have a terrible habit of ignoring people when I am out.

A red notification appeared over my Discord messenger app, it’s Hamu.

Hamu: hi miyu

I ate another mouthful of dinner as I responded, eyebrows raised as I typed with the spoon still stuck in my mouth.

Miyu: hi hamu

Hamu and I had been friends for around a year and a half and he was a distant friend through others. We were in many of the same social circles and had gone from talking sporadically to messaging almost everyday. Hamu was short for Hamster, his online name. Although he’d told me his real name, I never referred to him as such. As often as we spoke, I could never pinpoint for the life of me what we talked about.

Hamu: how r u

Typically I would say, ‘fine, you?’ and let the conversation drift to something Hamu brings up but maybe it was the alcohol wanting to talk that day or maybe I just wanted to dwell on the Kevin situation further so I typed.

Miyu: hamu

am i ugly?

I ate another mouthful while waiting for his reply. Hamu never takes anything seriously but does have moments of clarity that surprises people so I wanted to see his take.

Hamu: lol no why

Miyu: i think someone called me ugly at work today

Hamu: lol

I scoffed a little and went back to scrolling through Youtube for another video. Sometimes talking to Hamu was like shouting into a black hole, he takes everything but gives nothing back.

Miyu: thanks

Hamu: was he cute?

Miyu: no

Hamu: who called u ugly

who wanna catch these hands

Miyu: some guy at work

Hamu: lol then who cares

And that was Hamu’s approach to everything in life; no one should care about anything, particularly if it caused discomfort. ‘Lol’ was also a universal response to everything that you ever said to him.

Miyu: he said i didn’t look like someone who could have a boyfriend

Hamu: lol maybe he mad

Miyu: but why?

i didn’t even say anything???

Hamu: some guys are like that

they just say things

maybe he was trying to ask u out? lol

anyways

just ignore him

Miyu: how does one just IGNORE being called ugly hamu

and why would anyone even randomly say that?

Hamu: idk?? why dont you ask him? lol

maybe he was trying to see if you were interested?

why do you care so much anyways?

do u want him to think ur cute or something?

Miyu: why would i not care?

everyone wants to feel like they are attractive kinda no?

like what if some girl called you ugly

wouldn’t you care?

Hamu: lol no

why would i?

Miyu: hamu you’re ugly

Hamu: lol

i know :(

Shit.

Miyu: nooo you’re not!!!

but see like

you get sad too

Hamu: lol?

but thats cos i know you?

Miyu: yes but i also know him?????

Hamu: u care too much abt everything

Miyu: you care too little

Hamu: bt at least im happier

Happier. What a strange word to use.

Miyu: what makes you think i am not happy?

Hamu: r u happy?

ur crying abt some rando guy calling you ugly

I stopped typing, was I really not happy? I’d had a lovely evening with John and I felt that I could safely say I was happy. Was caring about why someone else called me ugly an indication that I was not happy? Was it truly that awful to care? Does not caring about anything make you a happy person? Why was Hamu ‘happy’ and I wasn’t? Because he doesn’t question anything? Can someone who doesn’t care about anything be happy? Does that make him happier than I?

Miyu: i think there’s merit in knowing these things

Hamu: u think too much

idgi

Miyu: what do you even get about anything?

Hamu: i care abt things nd get things

i just wouldnt care about if some random girl calls me ugly

like who cares

Miyu: okay hamu- what do you care about then?

Hamu didn’t reply for a long time after that, I think he went to play whatever he was playing with everyone else. I guessed our conversation wasn’t all that important after all so I finished the rest of my now cold dinner, cleared my plate and went back downstairs to fetch the apple that had been sliced and fridged for me previously. I left the soup as I couldn’t stomach any more dinner and walked back up to my room.

Hamu had responded.

Hamu: i care abt my friends

about my work

I care abt you

and ur cute

<3

My heart lurched a little, it was a nice change from a string of ‘lol’s, mindless jokes and empty answers. Hamu had a tendency to hide behind his humour to deflect any meaningful answers; he would argue over anything just because and refuse to listen to anyone. He was well loved in almost all social groups we were in but no one knew anything about Hamu. Not really. And so when I read his message, my chest fluttered a little. It’d be nice to be someone that Hamu cared about. Hamu, from what everyone else knew, cared about no one.

Idiot girl. Really? Hamu literally makes you want to bang your head against a brick wall and you dare– you dare have affections for this man? Really? What are you, 12? He literally only says ‘lol’ and makes stupid jokes. Please for the love of God, have some common sense!!

Miyu: aww

i care you too

Was it the alcohol talking when I typed ‘I care you too’, who knows at this point. I couldn’t tell if I had affection for Hamu or was it because Hamu had said he cared about me. Is that all it takes? For my chest to flutter? For someone to tell me they cared about me? To call me cute? Is that all it takes to win me over?

No no no– you listen to me, you stupid idiot. You are not, and I mean, NOT going to fall for HAMU. NO. LISTEN. HAMU DOES NOT LIKE YOU. DO NOT DO THIS.

But it was too late… I didn’t care if he liked me or not.

The cat is out of the bag.

I think I know what sort of person I am.

I am the sort of person who would fall in love with someone like Hamu.