Work Text:
“Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome. It’s nice to take a break for a night.”
The blue hue of the evening had faded from the air, replaced by those blinding neon lights that sent those gaudy shades of purple and red across the windows. The whir of the road and the quiet chatter of the radio faded into ambience, only accentuating the moments of gut wrenching silence. Moving further into the city, the streets gradually grew quieter and brighter and the time lapses between each car passing by only became longer. Maybe this was the only part of the city that ever came close to sleeping even with the bright lights and blinding flashing. But even if it came close, it hardly ever did.
Time passed by slowly, seconds stretched into minutes and minutes stretched into hours. But for once, it wasn't the same old monotony. Argo stirred in his seat, blankly staring out at the city, watching it pass by, attempting to contain his slight excitement. Maybe it was the change for once, actually going out to do something, not just waiting for whatever to come next.
“You said it was on Toll Road, yes?” Thophel questioned.
“Yes. Stop at the hotel and we’ll walk from there.” Argo responded, as he leaned forward to squint out of the windshield.
He could hear Thophel pleasantly huff ever so quietly before turning onto the road, twisting more comfortably into his seat. The further he drove, the more he relaxed, transitioning into an almost careless posture. His hands rested limply on the steering wheel. “Is the walk very long?”
“No," Argo shook his head. "You just can’t reach it by car.”
“Hm, alright.” Thophel tipped his head towards him as he nodded, keeping his line of sight fixed on the road.
He parked the car in front of the hotel. Despite the bright lights all around and a seemingly lively atmosphere, the street was still quiet. There were only a few people, and no one seemed to be staying, the uninterested figures each moving or stopping for some minuscule task or distraction.
Thophel unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, placing his hand on the car’s roof and looking up at the hotel. “Have they reopened this place? I remember it closing when I was little.” Argo heard Thophel snort as he shut the door behind him. His eyes gleamed as he stared at the hotel with a humoured tint to his expression.
Dragging himself out of the car, Argo rolled his shoulders when he stood. “No. No I don’t think so.” He adjusted his suit jacket and his tie, somewhat fussing over the creases and folds in his clothing. The two men approached the doors of the hotel, footsteps quietly echoing as they stepped across the pavement.
He watches Argo, similarly to what he does, what he does to everyone he meets. It was like constantly being trapped beneath a microscope, a constant analysis of each movement, action, decision as if the observer could read every fact about you from the way you placed each foot in front of the other to the way you gestured when you spoke.
Being the subject rather than the observer for once was unsettling.
“Did you used to stay here as a kid?” Argo prodded, listening with a keen ear.
Thophel cleared his throat. “No. I just grew up in the area.”
Argo cocked his eyebrow at him, “I would’ve expected you to come from a nicer district,” somewhat baiting him for more information as he pushed open the hotel door. Light came streaming out into the street, but the lobby was empty, no receptionist or clients. It was expected, but so off, to be so lively but empty and static.
Thophel shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I suppose I adjusted well then.” He’d begun to look around, scanning each inch of the hotel, from the hollow lobby to each dent or imperfection on the stair railing. “They're trying to keep this place quite secretive, hm?” It was his regular monotone voice, despite that, it somehow carried a humoured tune.
“Mhm,” Argo quietly huffed, cracking a slim smile. “We’re pretty close, don’t worry.”
They stopped at the break in the stairs, Argo heading towards an emergency exit and opening the door with ease. Thophel pushed his glasses up his nose, still holding that small smile. He held the door open behind Argo, tentatively stepping through after him. They both took slow steps, once again feeling the cool air of the deep evening with the two being bathed in dark blues of the hour once the door swung shut.
Buildings surrounded the small space; it was some kind of man-made city ravine. Previously open, but it had been built around. Unless you climbed over buildings, you would’ve had to walk through the hotel. Small animals could move through the gaps between buildings, but they never seemed interested in such a place.
“It’s one of the doors just down there, yes?” He pointed the the bottom of the stairs, somewhat leaning closer to Argo as he asked.
“Yeah.” Argo nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. He started taking quick steps down the stairs, watching his feet to ensure he didn't trip or stumble with his companion following in suit.
Thophel stepped back onto the pavement with a whispered thud, just a couple steps before the stairs reached the ground, in a single swooping movement. He was displaying that same relaxed attitude as before, continuing forward in more single fluid movements. He’d hardly bothered to study the surroundings. Maybe there was a brief scan over it, but nothing more. It must've been familiar enough to not bother.
Argo kept moving down the stairs, instead taking each stair down to the bottom. They walked to one of the doors to the left, Argo reaching past Thophel to knock on the door.
A raspy voice piped up. “Who is it?”
He cleared his throat before speaking. “Argo.”
The voice behind the door emitted a sharp groan. “Card?”
Argo sighed, grabbing one of his business cards and reaching down to slip it beneath the door. He crossed his arms, fixating his eyes onto the door.
There was a scoff from beside him. “I’d have expected them to know you better.” Thophel was still looking amused with the situation.
“I don’t come to these often, he might just not know me. It’s a big business, it’s possible.” Argo scratched the side of his head, sighing beneath his breath.
His companion nodded in understanding. “It feels like I’ve stepped out of my car and walked right into some b-grade movie.” He snorted again, mumbling. It seemed like he was trying to coax him.
Argo shrugged and cracked another smile. “Do you like the movie so far?”
“I don’t know,” he tilted his head in an animated fashion, the same animated fashion he approached so many people with. “I haven’t seen enough yet.”
They both tried to eye the figure inside, but they slunk behind the door as they let the two men in. Thophel gave a quiet, “Thank you” as he walked inside, tipping his head towards the person. From the slight glimpse Argo caught, they were akin to a poster child for a trainee. Their voice didn’t match their chubby face. Their vocal cords were probably worn down by smoke. He was too familiar with that kind of voice himself.
After the door slammed shut, any thought was drowned out by a flood of noise. While no one really danced, music was echoing through the pub, accompanied by a choir of disjointed loud voices. It was a sea of partially recognized faces and scarred features. Despite maybe recognising them, Argo couldn’t really remember ever talking to or interacting with any of these people, or even knowing their names, just passing faces and bodies.
“They can serve alcohol here?” Thophel’s voice caused him to turn, cutting right through his thoughts. He had pointed at the small bar in the corner.
"I don’t think they can, but they do.” Argo replied, raising his voice to be just over the crowd. “It’s all free, we can get some.”
Thophel tilted his head, averting his gaze from Argo, and pushing his glasses up his nose. “Sure, that’d be great.” He looked back with his eyes resting on him, as if he were relaxed.
They both attempted to skirt around the crowds of people, walking pressed up against the wall and watching the people washed in yellow shines of light. At some point, Argo felt his arm brush up against Thophel’s. “Ah sorry.” He said, pulling his arm back up to himself. Thophel said something, but it was indistinguishable from the crowd noise.
Approaching the bar, both felt somewhat irritated from the noise and cramped space. Argo rested his hands on the counter as he waited for someone to come up to them.
“What can I get you?” It was a somewhat young face. He looked bothered and tired, probably put on this job because no one else would do it.
“A whiskey on the rocks please, and…?” Argo shifted his eyes towards Thophel, who was patiently waiting beside him.
“A black Russian please.” Thophel smiled, resting his elbows onto the bar counter.
The man looked confused. “A black Russian?”
Thophel didn’t seem bothered. “Yes. Vodka and some caffeine liqueur?”
“Uhm. We have vodka, but no liqueur here," The young man scratched the back of his neck, grimacing at him. "Sorry sir, I wasn’t given much here.”
“It’s not your fault, don’t worry.” Thophel’s face shifted, just slightly changing for a brief second, before resuming to its calm demeanor. “Just a vodka and orange then.”
The supposed bartender nodded, reaching beneath the bar and putting up the bottles of whiskey and vodka, before turning and grabbing two glasses.
“Pretty sure you could just call that a screwdriver, I’m sure he’d know what that is.” A familiar voice.
It wasn’t pain, it was more like a brutal rush of nausea when Argo felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want to turn around, preferably, he had simply misheard the voice, mistaken it for someone else, that way, he could move on. He swallowed down the saliva beginning to gather in his mouth.
Not even a moment passed before Thophel opened his mouth to speak only for the voice interrupted him. “Argo? Who’s this gent you’ve brought here?”
Argo pivoted, enough to just glance at him. “Hello Dad.” The disgust was unbearable. “This is Thophel, he works with me.” He could already feel sweat gathering at the top of his head and his mood instantly dampened. Thophel hardly looked very happy either.
The familiar man let out a pissed-off huff, but still trying to grit his teeth and smile “You work with people now? You never tell me any of this stuff anymore.”
The young man sitting at the bar placed the two drinks on the bar, each drink in front of their respective man before briskly moving away to do whatever else. Thophel grabbed his quickly. In the same second, the man reached over the snatched Argo’s drink just before he could grab it. His head snapped in the older man’s direction, almost slamming his fist into the bench. He could feel Thophel’s eyes on him, on Rocco, carefully watching the situation.
“Thanks for the drink, bud.” Argo’s father chuckled, taking a sip from the glass.
Firmly pushing his hands into the counter, Argo scowled, feeling himself grow warmer and begin to sweat. Remaining tense and keeping his guard up, he turned back to the bar. “Hey? Could you get me another whiskey please? Yep, thanks.” He tapped his foot on the floor rapidly.
Thophel hesitantly placed down his drink and raised his hand out. “My name is Thophel. I believe Argo’s mentioned something about you.”
Rocco placed the stolen drink down on the counter and grabbed Thophel’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Toph. Name’s Rocco.” He smiled some kind of shit-eating grin. Thophel had grabbed Rocco’s hand in a firm manner, but Rocco hadn’t extended the same. The limp way he had grabbed Thophel’s hand could only be described as fraudulently meek.
Argo watched Thophel’s eyes narrow, as if he could see through what Rocco was trying to do. “My name is Thophel. I’d prefer you don’t call me otherwise.” Thophel pulled his hand away, discreetly wiping it on his dress pants.
“Alright, alright.” Rocco nodded, readjusting himself in his seat. “You’re not fond of nicknames, are you fella?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Well Rocco’s a nickname. My name is actually ‘Roch’, but nicknames, they make you more approachable y’know?” He remarked.
Thophel watched him with a suspicious gaze, trying to pick apart his brain and intentions. He had caught onto whatever was happening quickly. “Really? ‘Roch?’ That’s a strange name.”
Snorting, Rocco continuously looked over Thophel’s expression and posture. “It’s a Polish name.” It was watching psychological warfare.
Thophel nodded, glancing back at Argo at the bar. Argo had told him that previously, maybe once or twice. He hadn’t admitted the full extent of that yet, not his past name or his admittedly poor grasp of the language by this point. Argo picked up his drink, holding it close to him from the moment the bartender put it out, turning back around to face the two men.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.” Argo mumbled, half-heartedly attempting to seem fine.
“Why would you think that? I usually come to these things.” Rocco smiled, leaning onto the bar.
Argo shrugged, accepting the explanation half-heartedly. He already felt a bit iffy after walking into this place, Rocco’s presence was only making it worse.
Leaning forward, he questioned: “So how long have you two been working together?
Argo opened his mouth to speak, but Thophel spoke over him. “About two years.”
“Just under three years.” Argo jutted in.
“You’ve been working with him for three years.” Rocco said. “And you didn’t tell me for all this time?” His tone hardly shifted, but Argo could see the drastic shift in the emotion. The very slight squinting of his eyes and harden of his brow.
We should’ve just gone to Styx.
He groaned internally and took a sip from his whiskey, feeling the slight burn in the back of his throat. “Sorry. I’ve been busy and you’ve never brought the topic up.”
Rocco raised an eyebrow, nodding, but clearly unsatisfied with that answer. He finished off ‘his’ drink, firmly setting it back on the bar. He didn’t appear bothered by the noise, almost reveling in it, the scratchy chorus of voices and music.
Thophel pulled out his phone. Argo caught the reflection in Thophel’s glasses, someone was calling him. He gulped down the last of his drink “Excuse me for a moment.” Thophel sighed, placing the glass on the bar and pressing the phone to his ear.
He briefly touched Argo’s shoulder with his hand before completely departing.
As soon as he was out of sight, Rocco laughed to himself. “That beau is just like you.” He tapped his fingernails on the wooden bench, leaning over to Argo in the bar stool. “Very quiet and firm, he seems like a no-nonsense type.”
“We can be similar, but we’re very different people.” Argo murmured, clenching the bar with his free hand.
He laughed and shrugged, keeping his attention simply fixed on Argo and his expression. He heard him very quietly murmur: “I’m sure you two get on well.”
Argo nodded, somewhat attempting to block him out, simply staring into his glass as he swirled it around. He watched the ice cubes bob up and down in the glass, ice being swallowed and spat out by orange waves.
“Did someone invite you here? Or did you just hear about it?” Rocco leaned towards him, grinning.
“I just heard about it. Figured it’d be something nice to do,”
“Do you even know any of the people here?”
Argo shrugged, trying to withhold the urge to snap at him. “I just came here to do something, drink, spend some time with a coworker.”
Rocco seemed to accept that answer, lazily nodding his head. Argo had seen him stifle a laugh at ‘co-worker’. “Alright, alright. You got a cigarette on ya?” He reached over, making a slight grabbing motion.
Argo slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the cigarette pack with his fingers, slightly fiddling with the lid. The pack was full. “Sorry, no I don’t.” He replied as he pulled his hand out from his pocket. Slightly adjusting his suit, he finished his drink, ready to just walk off.
“What?” he nearly snapped at him. “Did you quit and not tell me about that too?”
“No. I just don’t have any on me at the moment.” He grumbled, ready to break off from the conversation. He’d hardly done anything but could feel all the energy had drained from his body, physically and mentally exhausted.
A slight scowl rested on Rocco's face. He appeared bothered about Argo’s detachment from the conversation, his voice sounding grumbly and irritated. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it then.” He scoffing before getting up and stalking off.
Argo let out a breath he had held onto for some time, but still unable to feel his heartbeat slow or sore muscles relax. He peeled away from the bar and walked around, not even able to hear his own footsteps or thoughts over the flood of noise tearing its way through his ears. The light shone throughout the venue, bathing every person in there.
Thophel will find me eventually, it won’t kill him to manage through this place alone.
He reached one of the tables. No one was sitting there. Each of the tables there had a tablecloth on them, most were white, but his was the only table to have a grey one. Looking around the crowds, he really didn’t recognize any by name. It was all familiar faces seen in passing, he couldn’t remember talking to any of the people there. His hands felt jittery, completely restless.
There was some kind of strange feeling still crawling up his stomach, like something grazing the inside of his gut, more akin to a tickle by this point. He tapped his foot on the floor, his body seemed fretful, completely drunk on adrenaline. The noise wasn’t helping, screeching of voices and music had completely liquefied his brain in seconds. Even if he had been there for years, worked for this organisation for so long, he felt so out of place here.
Faces just looked vague and distant, with some more alcohol he was sure that they’d melt together or blur into the lights and walls. The voices had already done that, mashed into one and cried as they drowned beneath the music.
I need a cigarette.
Argo kicked himself up, trudging towards the bar once again. Even without the alcohol, the faces, their bodies, it became something else. He could walk through it, he may have to shove and ask, ‘excuse me’, but it’d break around him, letting him move through, as if it had been wanting to swallow him into itself.
It wasn’t a bunch of other people in a pub, rather: it was him and this large mass, not individuals, but some kind of hive mind.
A community. Maybe.
By the time he had reached the bar, there was different unfamiliar face running it. A woman, maybe his age, who had short hair, shorter than his own. Her face reflected experience, slightly wrinkled and scarred. He didn’t recognize her at all.
“Whiskey. On the rocks please.” Argo requested, tapping his foot slightly. He still felt restless, unable to keep still, but was trying to keep his composure, trying to keep his patience. The woman nodded, and quickly served him his drink with a sigh and a subtle nod in his direction. “Thank you.” Argo picked up his glass and walked to one of the doors, on the opposite side of where he first came in, again skirting around the crowds of people. It was making his insides churn.
He pushed open one of the back doors, ensuring the door shut behind him and walking up the staircase. His drink sloshed in the pint, some whiskey spilling over his hand and ice cubes dipping and rising above the edge of the glass. Fresh air flowed through the stairway, ruffling both his hair and his suit. The sensation was calming, so he didn’t entirely mind.
The air was like those nights out in the desert. Nights that he thought would be warm, but were usually freezing.
Footsteps echoing throughout the small stairway soothed his ears as the voice and melodies gradually distanced from him. It was still audible as he reached the top, but it was so quiet, so disconnected now, it no longer clouded and suffocated his head. At the top, the door creaked as he pushed the door open, pushing more cold air down the stairs.
On the balcony, outside, the sky had become dark, streets and shops below illuminated by the many fluorescent lights and shop signs. Resting his hands on the railing, his skin and sleeves bathed in smears pink and blue.
Argo took a step back, leaning down and placing his glass of whiskey on the ground next to him. He produced a cigarette from the small pack he had kept in his pocket and placed it between his teeth. He patted his legs for a moment, searching for his lighter, before bringing it to his lips and lighting his cigarette. As he exhaled, a large puff of smoke was released from his crooked nose. He picked up his glass from the ground, simply holding it at chest level as he leaned back onto the railing. His foot still restlessly tapped against the ground.
Fluorescent lights flashed and swam across the street not-too-far below, turning on or continuing to periodically flash as the evening grew darker and the moon sat in the starless sky. Each person, each vehicle, window, shop, was smothered by the clash of bright colours, drowning, polluting the city walkways. Even if the sun had set, the sun never truly set as it was still bright as day, the night never came and no one ever slept. And when no person chose to rest, the noise was constant, the music, the chatter, even if it was distant, it still grated on Argo’s ears. It hadn’t completely separated him from the noise, it had only created distance, the same distance created by bombs and gunshots and the high pitched ring that came with them.
Argo took the cigarette from his teeth, exhaling a little bit of smoke as he took a sip from his whiskey glass, creating that slight burn in the back of his throat. It tasted so bland. The feeling he had been trying to move away from, the feeling that brought him here tonight. Everything had morphed into a monotonous cycle of the same few events, the adrenaline from his work didn’t affect him anymore, it was no longer a rush that excited but a rush to properly wake him.
Then, something worked, the conversations, being able to somewhat understand the amusing quirks and intricacies, the simple enjoyment of working with someone. Working with someone similar to him. It was no fix, but it was something pleasant.
It seemed like a good idea to get more out there, to come here tonight. Despite enjoying the company of his co-worker, Argo watched the people speak, how they navigated or built the simple friendships and contractual relationships.
And it all repulsed him.
The door behind him creaked and a small gust of wild brushed past him.
“I thought you’d be up here.” Thophel’s voice. He still held that calm tone to his words, but hushed or quiet. It was the kind of quiet that just reached the ears, and was somewhat relieving to hear. Argo pivoted to face him, it was only Thophel there.
He couldn’t help but crack a slight smile as he took the cigarette out from his teeth. “I figured you’d find me.” He huffed, amused. “What was your phone call about?”
Thophel had approached his side, resting his hands on the railing beside Argo’s. He held his gaze down at the street below. “People wanting to smalltalk." The barrage of lights and patterns bounced off his glasses, just slightly disguising his eyes. "Nothing important. I got out of it quickly” Thophel waved his hand indifferently. An unexpected display of carelessness, so casual, too natural for him. “Just another meaningless task for each day.”
Argo nodded, silently taking another draw from his cigarette. “If you don’t need anything or nothing important has happened,” He added. Smoke flowed from his mouth with each word, trailing and trickling off into the evening air. “No point in calling. It's alright, there's no need to go out of your way for it.”
“Mm.” Thophel’s voice was louder than before, not shouting or raising by any means, but was less of that quiet, wisping voice from moments ago. ”You clearly don’t share that mindset with your father.”
Argo huffed, taking a large gulp from his glass. It burned his throat. “I’d like to think I don’t share anything with him.” He rasped.
“I’d agree.” Thophel slowly tilted his head to the side, resting his head in one hand as he shifted his line of sight to the man beside him. The light shining on his glasses covered the lenses, obscuring his eyes. “Though, you seem to harbor similar habits. How you analyse each movement and word. You see right through people.” He furrowed his brow as he spoke.
The whole area seemed fall silent, everything awaiting his response. Argo expressed a kind of motionless, silent acknowledgement of Thophel’s comment. It was true. He knew each tiny shift or change in the body or facial expression, he could characterise so much simply based on the way one would hold themself. It was fascinating to watch the simple ways people could reflect so much with so little, a useful skill, and brilliant in its own right.
But that fact was still jarring.
The moment kept stagnant between the two for some moments. No words, no sounds of breathing, just the noise of the streets below, the people and the echo of footsteps on the pavement.
Argo began to ruffle around his pockets, making a slight shaking noise as he rattled around with the cigarette box in his hand. He eventually produced the box from his pocket, outstretching his arm to offer a cigarette to Thophel.
Thophel looked down at the box, watching the cigarettes bounce and jitter about in the box as Argo shook it. He looked surprised for a moment, staring intently before eventually picking at the box, cautiously extracting one and clumsily placing it between his middle and index finger. As Argo placed the pack back in his pocket, Thophel asked: “You have a lighter, yes?” Argo nodded, carefully ensuring the pack remained in the pocket before reaching for his lighter, placing it in Thophel’s hand. The flip-top lighter was only stainless steel, but Thophel handled it like it was precious gold, using expertly fragile hands to light the cigarette he had placed in his mouth and hand it back to Argo.
Only slight contact was made when passing the lighter between each other. Even if it was no longer than a second, the feeling lingered, the warmth lingered. Something so meaningless, but so reassuring. Regardless, the closeness felt almost overbearing, immediately embedding some sort of deep discomfort in his gut. They quickly withdrew their hands, as if they’d burned each other.
Thophel had turned his face away from him, making his reaction somewhat indiscernible, but it was certainly similar to his own.
“He-” Thophel began, blowing a stream of smoke from his nose and mouth before coughing and hacking. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and brought his arm to his face, continuing to wheeze and choke for a few more seconds. He scrunched up his face as he lowered his arm, clearly unimpressed with the situation.
Argo couldn’t help but chuckle as he coughed, perhaps the bizarre kind of shift it was for him.
Thophel started once again. “He— your father— is certainly-” Thophel cleared his throat, firmly hitting his chest with his fist. “An interesting character.”
“He’s a character alright.” Argo groaned. “I’m sure you understand why I avoid jobs with him.”
“I do,” Thophel almost cut him off. “I’m also sure that’s why you act differently around him.”
Somewhat amused, Argo scoffed at the comment. “You think I act strangely around him?”
Thophel nodded, “But I can understand it. He tried to talk to me after my phone call. He’s quite irritating.” Thophel continued, easing Argo back into reality. “He seems domineering. Everything, no matter how insignificant, he needs to have some kind of control over it."
He sighed, taking another drink from his glass. “I’m more than aware. I wouldn’t have come here if I knew he was going to be here tonight.”
As Argo spoke, Thophel took a hesitant drag from his cigarette. He didn’t cough or hack, just a simple inhale and exhale followed by a slight scowl. His movements were animated, giving a few graceful seconds before speaking. “Argo, why did you come here?”
He knew why he came here. He knew why he invited Thophel to come. He knew why he enjoyed working with him. His world was too quiet. When there were few jobs for him to do, he could occasionally go days without talking to or seeing people. His career had swallowed him. The center point, the only thing that really made him think or move.
He could go through changes, he could change his appearance and his name, he could work his way up through the military, but it still never felt as intense as the changes caused by the years and years of different murders which result in same gruesome outcome that quickly become boring. It wasn’t some tragedy or trauma to be pitied, just something that made him so unapproachable, something that made him reject most or hold that at arms length.
Putting such a feeling into words was nothing but a bother.
Argo remained silent for a moment longer. “Life was too boring. I thought it’d be nice to come, just to do something.” Argo pressed the butt of the cigarette into the balcony railing, snuffing it out. “Why did you come with me?”
“Because you asked. I enjoy your company and I want to observe the culture of the organization.” Thophel had rested his hand back on his other hand, narrowing his eyes down on Argo as he put out his cigarette. He had more in his mind to say, but clearly didn’t see it as important. “Why’d you ask me to come here?”
“I wanted you to come,” He stated, the words practically fell out of his mouth. He couldn’t think up the reason, he wasn’t entirely sure on what words he could use to explain himself.
Thophel kept his eyes fixated on him. He looked straight through him, expressing the slight hint of an understanding gaze. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Would you have come if I had said no?”
It took him a moment. Argo felt his heart skip a beat as his palms grew warm and sweaty. “Probably not.”
The two fell into silence. Thophel looked down, tensing his muscles with discomfort. Argo drained the last of his whiskey and placed the glass on the ground. It was only the flashing of street lights and the sound of steady breathing.
Thophel nodded slowly, eyeing his half-burned cigarette and dancing it between his fingers. “Thank you for the cigarette, but I’m not going to finish it.” He moved his hand to drop it on the ground beside him, but decided to extend his hand to Argo, offering it to him in order to not waste it.
Argo didn’t feel like another cigarette, he’d finally settled down, but felt tempted to take it. He slightly shifted his hand towards Thophel along the railing. It’d probably be warm and vaguely taste of the screwdriver Thophel had earlier. “No thank you. That’s fine.”
He shrugged, dropping the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out by grinding his shoe into the concrete. “I don’t understand how you enjoy smoking. I understand the nicotine, it's addictive, but why in a method that’s so uncomfortable?” He prodded. His face was neutral, but he appeared amused, as if to slightly tease Argo. "Not to mention the damage it does to your lungs."
Argo snorted, turning around to lean his back against the railing, folding his arms in front of his chest.
Despite the warm day, the night had gradually begun to border on freezing. Everything appeared still. Argo could hear the ambience of the nightlife and see maybe a flash from the corner of his eye, but didn’t register it. He was disconnected from it. For once it felt like there was no reason to pay any attention to it. The night became darker, the air grew colder, it was as simple as that.
The sensation of being constantly tense or feeling watched by someone with violent intentions had dissipated rather fast tonight. To finally feel relaxed, at ease with someone. Someone who fascinated him immensely, someone he felt so drawn to.
Argo glanced back to Thophel, who was still resting his head in his hand. He’d been eyeing him for a little while by that point. For once it was clear what he thought, it wasn’t wrapped up in mystery or obscured behind glasses.
You and I both know we have to talk about this eventually.