Suze gave him her number that day, because as Nino learned, she was not a girl who played games. 

He was the one who did that. He was the one who required her patience.

Suze was the popular girl in her university, complete with her posse of pretty friends, less the stereotypical Ice Queen exterior and plaid miniskirts. Instead she strolled around campus in her thrift shop t-shirts and denim overalls, humming B-sides, and shunning every boy who fell on their knees for her. 

Nino would pick a fight with her over these boys, knowing full well that she ignored each one, knowing he was the one who flirted back with every girl who went near him. Suze would ignore him for days whenever he did this, and he would come begging for her to forgive him, until he sinned again.

"This is the breakup song, karaoke-level kind of love," he had told her. "It's imperfect, but it will endure."

She gave him her soft, trilling laughter. He clutched her to him, releasing a vow that he would try harder.

***

He got her an acoustic guitar not because it was her birthday or their anniversary. It was a normal Tuesday. Only that a few weeks before Suze had tried strumming his guitar, and was fit to crying in frustration that the thing hated lefties like her.

Suze had squealed and leapt into his arms, catching Nino off-guard he almost dropped the instrument.

"I thought I needed to be Kurt Cobain to get a leftie guitar!"

"No, you just needed to be loved by me." He laughed, his chin on the top of her head. "Although that's almost as rare as being Kurt Cobain."

"You're saying you'll never love anyone else?" Suze teased as she stepped on his sneakers. Nino knew what she would do next.

"Uh-huh. Because loving you is taking up all of my energy," he said. Suze lifted herself up on her toes, her lips within a breath of his. "It's consuming, mind-boggling, exhilarating work, and I want to do it for a long time."

***

Nino brushed his knuckles against his mouth as he walked the even grounds of Raffles Hotel, swearing he felt a shadow of her kiss. The memory urged his anger, fanning the flame, such that he was fuming when he walked into Long Bar.

Suze was sitting in one of the circular tables, surrounded by girlfriends, per her usual. 

Nino stood frozen at the threshold, the sight of her—one that was kept from him for three months—suspending everything in slow motion. Paper fans lined up in rows on the ceiling, empty peanut shells on the floor, notes of a saxophone floating in the air, people tipping their hats and twiddling the length of their necklaces. It felt like Nino was in a James Bond movie, circa 1960, and Suze was his Tracy.

"How the hell did you know I was here?"

Suze's wide accusing eyes and her high-pitched tone snapped him back to reality.

"Should've unfriended all my bandmates," Nino grumbled. He marched towards her, peanut shells crunching under his soles. She leaned back when he shoved the guitar under her nose. "How dare you return this?"

She lifted her chin, matching his wrath with hers. "We never talked about not returning stuff."

"Not in that phone call, we didn't. Because you were too busy screaming and cursing—"

"I had every right to scream and curse, you arrogant son of a—"

"I know what I did! But what the hell am I supposed to do with a guitar I had made just for you?" he yelled back, his height gaining him advantage. 

If only his hands didn't choose to shake then, as they both turned to the little thing in question. The guitar was built for a small human, bigger than a child, but more delicate than an adult. It was painted the lightest of pinks, with scratches that told their stories. 

"It would fit no one else, play for no one else..."

The rapid murmurs of onlookers reached his ears as Suze grabbed his hand. "Not here, Nino."