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t’s pointedly ridiculous. Even like this, they can still have tea and coffee together. She takes a sip, and looks at all her correspondence on the glass tabletop, yawning. Dawn was coming soon, but she’d never been much of a heavy sleeper anyway. He took a sip, mirroring her. He liked to do that. He was so quiet today, everything was. She dragged her nail across a sealed envelope, the ripping noise sounded like an explosion against the— tranquility?
“Damn it.”
She looked up at her usual early morning companion, “What is it?”
He pointed at his gaping gunshot wound and then at his tea, “I’m dripping.” He tilted his translucent cup towards her so she could see inside.
Red swirled with black, but it was washed out to gray and pink.
She smiled ever so slightly, “Is it an interesting flavor?”
Silently putting the cup down, he shook his head, “It tastes like nothing.” The cup melted into the clear, dusty glass beneath it. He reached out, putting his hand over hers. Drops of his (once) black suit fell from his sleeve as he did so. They disappeared after splashing to the surface.
A cold breeze blew over her skin, but she ignored it. The letter was some trivial business from a count from-somewhere-important. He probably wanted money, or gossip. It hardly mattered, did it? She dropped the paper and looked into Gleb’s eyes. They were starting to run, like milk being poured into coffee. She took in a sharp breath of Paris air, “Have you forgiven me?”
He touched her cheek with a barely there finger, “Are you happy?”
His touch was so cold, but his smile just as warm as it had always been. She didn’t reply, but pulled away and took a long drink of her coffee. The sun was coming, very soon. The heat of it was alien and unwanted. Summer had never been her, their season, after all. She stared off the balcony towards the blossoming sun, and murmured, “Could you have grown to love the Seine as much as the Neva?”
“Have you?”
She felt something cool kiss her hand, and her head snapped back towards him. He was gone. The first ray of sun set her ablaze, and she ripped the pointless letter to shreds, and threw the pieces from the balcony.
She could pretend they were Russian snow.