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He sat across from me in the dimly lit booth table, I leaned forward towards him with both elbows on the table as he spoke about his job, any life updates, things he’s done - anything. And I guess that’s the nice thing about a relationship, you have someone that listens when you talk and someone who talks when you want to listen.
“And so I sneaked up into the bushman’s nest, and he’s a fool, so I stabbed him in the back while he was urinating in his filthy jars.” He spoke about his latest misadventure.
“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” I said shortly, letting him continue his story.
“Me? Of course not, do you know who you’re speaking to?”
He acted offended, as if he was an amateur, which would imply he was well below his paygrade (I mean, he’s wearing his most expensive suit tonight.. or is that just his work uniform?)
“Right. My bad, continue.”
He continued speaking about his victory, and how he despises the blue team.
“Oh, and right at the end, the blue spy —” He paused to scoff, “ — He almost tore my suit, so naturally, he got shot in the head.”
He wasn’t superficial, well maybe only a little bit, but as you got to know him, it becomes sort of endearing.
“But how have you been, mon cher?”
“Oh, you know.” I paused, waving my hand around awkwardly as my life wasn’t really as eventful as his. “As good as one can be.”
“Nothing you wish to share?”
“Nothing worth sharing.” I laughed. “Well, my mail got mixed up with my neighbours but you know, nothing crazy.”
He frowned as he picked at his food with his fork, feeling almost guilty about how exciting his work was.
“I love you.” He said quickly, almost like a confession despite saying it a hundred times or more - yet rarely would he say it in english.
“I love you too.”
He smiled and took a sip of his wine, gesturing at our table that we’d so happened to ignore. Expensive restaurants don’t come cheap and probably shouldn’t waste any of it.
“I started reading a book.” I started, trying to think of anything interesting enough to share. “It’s about how love affects the brain and the metaphysical environment it creates in the human psyche. Well, that’s my interpretation of it anyway.”
“How interesting. And how does love create a metaphysical environment in your psyche?”
“Mhm.” I hummed, thinking for a moment. “Makes me like fancy restaurants. And tacky wine, and I like listening to you talk about killing people for money. And, I guess, it makes me like you.”
“Like?”
“You know.”
He smiled and half-cheered his glass, taking another sip before gesturing to the meal, which by this point, was more than likely cold.
“It makes it hard to concentrate on more important things. Like eating. Or sleeping. But I think it’s worth it.”
“I’m glad.”
“Not everyday someone in a very fancy suit buys me a very fancy dress and takes me to a very fancy restaurant with some very fancy wine for no real reason except for the fact that he, for some reason, thinks I’M the interesting one.”
“You’re so interesting, mon cher.” He smiled. “More exciting than my boring old job. You think killing people is fun for me?”
“Maybe a little.”
He nodded. “Yeah, a little but not the point.”
I looked back at our plates for a moment. “You make me feel interesting. Like I actually am, even though all I do is read and.. Well, that’s it.”
“I’d give you libraries if it meant you’d talk to me forever about your books.”