With every passing second his mind wanders from one corner of the shop to the next. Joon can practically see a vision of himself pacing back and forth in frustration. The way the other continued to put up a front has him on edge. ( What a clever man. ) His fingers rub the charred tissue into his skin, the scent of burning material seeping into his nostrils as he takes a deep breath in. With eyes never leaving the tea shop employee, he narrows his gaze. His feet tap against the floors of the shop, the rhythmic sound now deafening in the silence that grows between the pair.
âIf I wasnât already CLEAR, Iâm not here for your manager.â His diversion of the topic has Joon more and more on edge â close to the point of breaking. âIâm sure you can handle a little bit of pressure from a customer, or did they not train you for that?â He laughs, the sound cold and piercing as he mocks the other at any chance he gets. A childish move, but his irritation is getting the worst best of him. It has him reaching forward and snatching the paper roughly out of the otherâs hand. A gesture that Joon wouldnât be proud of later in the day, but his blood is boiling and patience is thinning. Without another word, he sets the piece of paper on fire, watching the red, yellow, orange make room for the main act of ash.
âMy name isnât necessary, nor is calling the police. I wonât hurt you.â His words are unconvincing, as expected from a man whoâs been pressuring a stranger for so long. âAll I want a confirmation of a life you clearly donât want to live anymore.â Before he can start up again, the other is going on with an excuse that Joon doesnât have time to hear. A bright, yet plastic, grin plasters on his lips as he chimes up, sarcasm dripping from his words. âGreat! We have twenty minutes to talk, plenty of time !!â
His palms come down on the counter, the half empty cup quivering beside his palm as he leans uncomfortably close to Ulrich. Rather than speaking, for a moment he stands there simply eyeing the other. Once up, once down, once more UP. Eyes lock, and his brows furrow as he tries to uncover why such a brilliant mind would stifle itself with the act of tea making. What a waste of talent, what a waste of expertise. With a scoff, he pushes himself back from the counter, turning on his heels as if to leave.
However, before he can get to the glass doors that are begging for him to walk past them, he stops beside a garbage can. Leaning in, he grins at the sight of items perfect for kindling. Turning slowly back to the other he fishes his lighter out once again. Holding the small device over the garbage can, he clicks the lighter on with a flick of his thumb. âDo you know how quick a fire can spread? Just as quickly as word can. Sometimes you can extinguish it at its root, and sometimes it engulfs you whole.â He hums to himself, flicking the flame on and off, hovering menacingly over the trash bin.
âONE last chance, Ulrich. This doesnât have to turn into a forest fire if you donât want it to.â
ulrich hates this man, and hates this situation. he hates how the man rejects kind offer, after kind offer to avoid an unpleasant situation. he detests how he continues to threaten ulrich, to intimidate him, to make a fool out of him, when ulrich has done nothing to warrant such treatment from him. he abhors how such a despicable person like him managed to get his hands on something just a little more than ash from his past and came to torment ulrich with it.
â i find the police to be exactly what we need, right now. â ulrich smiles. heâs been smiling alot today, for this man, for this undeserving, low-life imitation of a man.Â
ulrich refuses to play his game, or to entertain him â much like the nameless scum offered him one last chance, so does ulrich, before things become dirty, and nasty, and bloody.
â i donât know what you want from me. â he shrugs. â i told you times and times again that i donât know what you are talking about; what you see, is what it is. this is my job and other than some pizza delivering or lawn mowing, iâve had no other. â ulrich sighs dejectedly, as if he doesnât want to do this, as if heâs over it, as if heâs sorry, unaffected, unpeturbed. â youâre crossing a line, here, sir. all youâve been doing since youâve stepped foot into my store is to threaten and harrass me, and iâm sure thatâs just enough ground for law inforcement to become involved. â
ulrichs glares, not shying from showing the hatred he has for this man reflect in his eyes, burning like a forest fire, all consuming and unforgiving. â leave, sir. you are welcomed inside this shop no longer. call customer service, file a complaint. where did you say you were working again ? iâm sure theyâll be more than happy to hear how you use your free time, what you do in their name. leave. â
he leaves the comfort and the safety of space behind the counter, hand grabbing the bat dalian insisted on leaving nearby for situations such as this, on his way. ulrich puts as much space as possible between him and the man, as he goes to the entrance, pressing down on the doorhandle and holding it open.
â please. â he motions with his bat, an aluminium one that mustâve cost a couple hundreds.Â