The One that got Away Writing Prompt

 You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One That Got Away.” What happens?

The radio was trying my patience today. I'd been tempted to just switch it off and run cd's through the karaoke machine: at least I could tolerate most of the music I'd bought for the store, and the weekend was more than a mere three days away. It was Tuesday, however, and open mic night was on Friday: I wondered if I would accidentally confuse the patrons already in Henaji. What I normally did was let the local radio stations of the internet cycle through the speakers. That meant we could listen to anything from Top 40 to K-pop, to soft rock. I wasn't really into the music that the random jukebox was selecting. Rihanna was usually fine with me, but "Disturbia" was a track that almost had me reaching for the cuffs and straight jacket from the get go.
"I don't see why you don't just  do what they do in Olive Garden and make the music selection individual to the guests via the tablets."
That was Skold, my employee on the clock for the day. He was going to be working full shifts every day for as long as it took me to find some additional help. I hadn't put an ad in the paper yet or anything; something about the mood of the locals told me that I had enough karma building that someone would swoop into Henaji on the verge of a meltdown or something. It hadn't really happened yet, but maybe the day hadn't yet arrived. I had a positive feeling that if I could just hold out until said meltdown had a chance to happen, I would be pleased with the karmic results.
"I don't mind what they listen to themselves, it's the music up here and on the screens that gets me."
I clarified.
"Well, what's wrong with K-pop and J-pop music videos?"
"Nothing, but I keep waiting for someone to object when something explicit like, "My Little Box" comes on."
"That's because it's one of those guilty pleasure songs. The music video you picked turns out to be the opening scene from 'Ghost Ship'. Sorry, but every time I see that little girl die or the opera singer in that red dress, I expect her to come out of the television and start waiting tables. You two look nothing alike, but something tells me she's something close to your breed of lust demon."
"Ha, ha. That sounds interesting, I'll have to give it some more thought, but I wonder if it would pay off just to make that nightmarish scenario of yours a reality."
The bell up front dinged, and Skold and I turned to see if it was a regular or a newbie: Thursday wasn't early at all to introduce someone to the scene of the experience that came with Henaji, though it usually took a couple of repeat visits before the average customer caught on to the entire experience, like the fact that there was a back room where denizens of the Aetherial and humans could mix and mingle to their heart's content.
"Oh no."
The newcomer to the scene smiled, pushing his long, blond mane out of his eyes.
"Now that's hardly what I expected when I pictured our reunion, love."
I frowned, reaching for a glass almost out of habit, when I realized that the song of choice for the radio was "Love the way you Lie." Since the music video for that song involved glass bottles and fire, it suited my mood, and I wondered if Skold would have a smart remark for me now that things had gotten a little more interesting.
"Jerek Hal..." I practically purred at him, the name making my voice deepen from habit. This human, though I used the term loosely when it came to him, was so familiar that I almost dropped my glamour and let him see how much I wanted to be reacquainted with him; to pick up where we'd left off in the game of predator and prey. Not that he needed to know the state I was in to pick up where we'd left off. It took considerable courage to walk back into the spider's web knowing that the black widow sitting in the center was hungry.
"Love."
I didn't correct him. No matter what the past had been like, the truth of the matter was this: I was in love with him, had been in love with him since I met him. Past events had proven this time and time again, even when I was too stubborn to realize what the emotion was that spoke volumes about our time together.
"I expected you to show up here sooner or later, though in place of this establishment, it'd be a house and picket fence, and you'd bring a gift,"
"What sort of gift would I bring for you?"
He smiled broader at my suggestion, and I could see his eyes flick to the music video, taking in the violence of the scene, the feeling between the two  in the scene mirroring the passion that had sparked more than a fire between the two of us already.
"Something I could feed upon."
I looked to Skold at that, wondering why he'd been so silent, though he knew what existed between Jerek and myself: had been there for me when the relationship had started getting rough and love had shifted to hate then longing, then love again. Jerek came right up to the bar then, pulling up a stool so he could see what was on tap for the patrons.
"Well, love, that makes for a very specific type of exchange, don't you agree?"
"Stop teasing me. I don't have time for someone who comes in, starts a conversation, then leaves me hungrier than when I started out."
"Yeah, but you have your bar slave here." Here he indicated Skold, whose lips tightened, a clear sign of anger at the term, though our relationship had graduated from mere bar slave and owner some time ago. "Don't tell me you lack in terms of feeding. Lust isn't something that's hard to come by."
That got him a direct glare from Skold, and I knew once he placed a hand on the bar that he was showing Jerek something that no human should have been able see without permission: his feline ears and tail winked into view.
"Ah, so I see this bakeneko objects to my use of such archaic language. Why am I not surprised that you have him so conditioned that it is this he objects to and not you feeding upon him?"
"He consented a long time ago."
"And was it willing?"
Skold answered this time, cutting in before I could say anything more.
"It was. If you are the one who left her bereft and needing a feed, I don't see why you object. Why are you bothering her?"
It was a good question, and Jerek left me wondering for a few beats before he came up with an answer.