[Outside, Sumio crushes a cigarette into a dark smudge under his foot. He hums thoughtfully and says nothing otherwise. It's so quiet now that the scrape of his heel seems to ring through the whole night: a stark contrast from today's endless series of interviews and investigations, yes, but a welcome one. For as well as they worked together, neither he nor Abbacchio were much for idle chit-chat. Not after their first few cases-- certainly not after their first few years.
Which is precisely the problem in a situation like this. They barely talk. The second he opens his mouth, Leone'll be expecting something he's actually got to give a damn about. There's no way that Sumio can slowly lead his partner to his real purpose at the Heinous Crimes Unit: he's got to gamble on it. All or nothing.
It's his own fault. He had a dozen contingency plans to throw off a partner he didn't trust, and nothing for one he did.
Sumio glances up at the building they've parked outside, lingering. He purses his lips, feels his mouth itch for another cigarette. If he turns around, he's sure he'll see his partner bitching at him to finish up and get in the damn car so they can go home. He's taking too long here-- even as he debates with himself in quick-time-- but tonight might be his best shot to explain this all. Whatever 'this all' still is, if Sumio even still knows what his plot's supposed to be; whether it's even worth the risk to try to win his partner over to begin with. Enough navel gazing. He steps off the sidewalk and walks around to the passenger's side of the car.]
Hey, Leone. I'm curious about something.
[he says, outside the car, but fuck, he can't see his reaction. Without waiting for the answer he opens the door, sits down, and pulls it shut.
His suit still smells like smoke. He meets Abbacchio's eyes, decides it's too suspicious, and glances lower to watch the other man's lips, anticipating his answer.]
no subject
Which is precisely the problem in a situation like this. They barely talk. The second he opens his mouth, Leone'll be expecting something he's actually got to give a damn about. There's no way that Sumio can slowly lead his partner to his real purpose at the Heinous Crimes Unit: he's got to gamble on it. All or nothing.
It's his own fault. He had a dozen contingency plans to throw off a partner he didn't trust, and nothing for one he did.
Sumio glances up at the building they've parked outside, lingering. He purses his lips, feels his mouth itch for another cigarette. If he turns around, he's sure he'll see his partner bitching at him to finish up and get in the damn car so they can go home. He's taking too long here-- even as he debates with himself in quick-time-- but tonight might be his best shot to explain this all. Whatever 'this all' still is, if Sumio even still knows what his plot's supposed to be; whether it's even worth the risk to try to win his partner over to begin with. Enough navel gazing. He steps off the sidewalk and walks around to the passenger's side of the car.]
Hey, Leone. I'm curious about something.
[he says, outside the car, but fuck, he can't see his reaction. Without waiting for the answer he opens the door, sits down, and pulls it shut.
His suit still smells like smoke. He meets Abbacchio's eyes, decides it's too suspicious, and glances lower to watch the other man's lips, anticipating his answer.]
Humor me for a minute.