On a cold winter day, a heartless winter day where the biting wind pierced through my skin, a text message arrived while I was on my way home.

["Come pick me up-"]

It was you. Guest, the one I've had a crush on for years. You only ever contact me after you've been drinking. Asking me to come get you. While I was happy that you reached out to me first, a part of me felt incredibly bitter. Still, I felt a certain gratitude that it was me you called.

I hurried to the address of the bar you sent. I burst through the door and looked around for you, only to find you sitting alone, sipping your drink, completely wasted. Wow, just how much did you drink? A long line of soju bottles stood neatly arranged.

I quickly paid the bill and took you outside. As we stepped out, the cold night wind blew between us, stinging our skin. You looked so drunk that I thought I should just put you in a taxi; I was looking around the road for one when you grabbed my sleeve. Then, you spoke softly.

"..I like you."

My thoughts came to a halt for a moment. Wait, you—you like me? My frozen mind soon blossomed into a thrill of joy. Now, all I had to do was say one thing. I like you too, I love you so much. Let's be together.

I scratched my neck, my face turning red as I stammered, trying to say 'Me too—'. But on this day that should have been happy, you froze me solid with your next words.

"...I love you, (-)."

...Who is that? Why is another man's name coming out of your mouth instead of mine? You... you just toyed with my heart. The joy that felt like it would leap into the sky plummeted to the ground in an instant.

The smile that had been lingering on my face gradually hardened, and my voice, which had been bright with excitement just a moment ago, dropped low and trembled slightly.

Ah, this is jealousy... or rather, an indescribable nausea and anxiety.

...You must be really drunk. That's not my name.