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“Fuckin’ gross out there man,” Mickey complains as soon as he walks through the door. He kicks it shut behind him, hands full, and beelines for the kitchen. The cardboard box he’s holding lands heavy on the counter, his keys sliding off the top.
Ian catches them before they hit the floor, and sets them properly in the bowl they keep for that purpose.
“Thought it was supposed to be cooler today,” he comments, glancing out the window behind the sink. It certainly looks cooler: the shimmery heat of the past few days has given over to grey skies and quickly-moving clouds.
“Tell that to the damn humidity,” Mickey counters. “Like walking through soup out there, and it ain’t gettin’ better.”
He’s right about that–the light drizzle that begins to tap at the glass proves it for him.
“Even worse at the donut shop if you can believe it,” Mickey continues. “It’s been under 80 fucking degrees out for one day, one day, and they turned on the goddamned fireplace in the cafe!”
The rain starts to hit harder, tap to rap to a steady, hard drumming.
“Sounds ridiculous,” Ian says. He watches the rain on the window, and listens to the sudden, distant boom of late-summer thunder. “What were they thinking?”
“I know!” Mickey pops the box of donuts open, grabs a chocolate long john. Waves it around in one hand as he speaks.
“And they must have cranked the air in there or somethin’, because it was still better than outside!”
Ian cocks his head.
“Thought you said it was worse?”
“I mean.” Mickey pauses to take a bite and chew. His cheeks are faintly flushed–from annoyance? from the heat?–as he swallows.
“Wasn’t actually hot in there,” he admits, “but who puts on a fire when it ain’t even freezing?”
Ian doesn’t answer; there’s no need to. But the question hangs between them like it was something more than rhetorical.
“I mean, it was kinda nice and all, I guess,” Mickey adds. “Cozy and shit. Probably good for business, too–sort of made me want a hot chocolate or somethin’.”
He takes another bite of his donut, and nudges the box over to Ian. Ian picks out one of his own, a cream-filled monstrosity that might well put him into hibernation.
“But puttin’ on a fire when you’ve got AC runnin’ is crazy, right?” Mickey asks again, voice tipping high at the end.
It is crazy, Ian thinks, eating his giant donut and listening to the rain. Neither of them ever would have thought to do it. Wasting energy, wasting money, just to capture a vibe? Just to make the world around them match the way it made them feel?
Absolute insanity.
“Wanna do it?” Ian asks.
“Fuck yes,” Mickey answers, already heading for the living room. “And make us some cocoa, we’re doin’ this shit right.”