never a 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 —
“sharkbait.”
his attention perks at their code word, but he doesn’t raise his head. instead, his eyes flicker upward, and he asks, “trouble?”
she purses her bright red lips, her long acrylic nails drumming steadily against the wooden table. “doesn’t look like it,” she says after a bit. her gaze then swivels to the nearby wall. “young man, mid-twenties, probably, not terribly dressed if you’re up for comparison.” the corners of her mouth twitch into an amused smile; it’s her second jab at cheng’s simple and ‘unfashionable’ attire tonight. “he’s alone, though.”
the low purr of her final words tells him enough. go check him out.
he reaches for one of her cigarettes, places it daintily between his chapped lips, before finally raising his head to lean forward. she lights it for him, clicking her tongue in disapproval. it’s his third cigarette of the night, and they’re from her stash, at that. he ignores her and gives himself a moment to allow the nicotine to filter through his system. ( he should really cut back. ) after a few counted seconds, he removes the cigarette, parts his lips, and lets the smoke dissipate into the dingy air.
and then he moves: he rises from the booth strategically tucked away in the farthest corner of the pub and makes his way to the bar where the ‘sharkbait’ sits. it’s only when he slides into the seat next to this stranger that he realizes it’s . . not quite a stranger. he knows this man. remembers him, even though this is the one and only face he has sworn to forget.
what a coincidence.
he doesn’t allow the brief recognition to seep into his features. it’s too soon to play that card. instead, he leans against the counter-top, his left arm resting on the bar, his right hand cradling the cigarette. he gestures the bartender over. “can i get you a drink?” he turns to face the man now, his eyes narrowing just a tad as he scrutinizes the other’s features. there’s no mistake: it’s that stupid medic. “or are you waiting for someone?”
--- @shicrimi
