thaw out
@ncinmoon
bogum can’t remember the last time he’d manned a door. it couldn’t have been a very effective choice, then or now. he doesn’t fit the physical bill in any capacity: slim build, boy-next-door face. hardly the spitting image of a bodyguard.
but bogum’s been asked to stand in for someone who’s taken the weekend off to visit his countryside folks and if he couldn’t damn well sympathize with that, he wouldn’t be in his right mind. so he stands outside, leaning against the cold frame of the door with arms casually crossed over his chest while inmoon and big miss envoy negotiate a sell price with a real estate firm. the property isn’t worth much, but after tearing down the mess there and installing new chemical labs, they’d soon have another manufacturing base to call their own.
he’s receiving updates in one ear—they’re closing the deal, coming out in five—and the evening radio in the other, funneling bubblegum synths and sparkling, prepubescent vocals. nothing like a bit of pop to go with the bitter cold of this january night.
true to the crackling brief he’d received moments earlier, inmoon emerges from the building once the song comes to a close. the door swings open and bogum inhales and smells sweat and smoke and gunpowder, combined with the faint hint of aftershave and cologne.
they share a nod—his shift’s officially over—and it’s only then that bogum realizes his stomach is crawling for some food and drink. he glances at his watch: 1am. it’s still early enough.
“how’d it go?” he brushes the snow off his shoulder with a grin. “looks like you could use a drink.”
