It was ten o'clock in the evening, sharp, and Charlie walked down the stairs of his apartment building with leash in hand and a little dog eagerly trotting ahead of him. Ten in the evening meant it was time to get ready for bed. Ten in the evening meant Matilda had to pee before she retired to Charlie's bedroom, waiting for him to crawl under the covers and sleep for the events of the next day.
It went more or less the same as always. He took Matilda to the patch of grass and the tree right in the sidewalk so she could pee, pushing his glasses up his nose as they stood under the street lamp. When she was done, he clicked his tongue and tugged the leash to get her to walk back in with him.
Charlie froze momentarily when he turned to walk back, seeing the back of someone's head around the corner, wisps of smoke rising from their frame towards the sky. Matilda tugged lightly at the leash to go back inside-- routine to the end, this one-- but Charlie's head was tilting in confusion as that brief slip of shoulder turned, a familiar profile came in sight, and...
"Alastair?" Smoking! Alastair was smoking close to his apartment building, and Charlie found himself walking forward to catch up to him, taking Matilda along with him. Alastair had already seen him in his pyjamas; the sweatpants and oversized shirt and socked feet in flip-flops probably wouldn't faze him. (Though it occurred to Charlie in a half-thought that he'd never worn his glasses around him before.)
The closer he got, the more Alastair looked like he didn't want to be here, all fidgety and awkward and puffing a little harder on his cigarette. Charlie furrowed his brows, picked Matilda up in his arms, and gently covered her snout with his hand.
"Hey... what. What're you doing out here?"
