[Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he's paranoid. Maybe staring at Sumio's back for full minutes longer than he ought to, as this smoke break stretches on past absentmindedness and into avoidance, doesn't mean anything at all.]
[Except they've known each other for years, and it does. He knows it does. The way Sumio stands, shoulders just a hint tenser, spine just so much straighter than usual — it'd mean nothing at all to most people, but him, he's seen too many smoke breaks, too many stomped-out cigarettes. Too many bad moods and quiet moods. He's seen too much of Sumio, period.]
[The night's dark. Through the cracked car window, he can smell his partner's shitty cheap cigarettes, the ones he used to complain about in earnest and now does out of habit. The scent's become a guilty comfort. He steals them sometimes, except it's not stealing if Sumio lets him, and he's pretty sure Sumio does know.]
[So — yeah. Something's up. It is. But Sumio's gonna tell him. He has to trust in that. And just as he thinks that, Sumio speaks, opens the door, slides in next to him.]
[Leone. Eyes on his lips, which press together in a moment of self-consciousness before going carefully relaxed. He can't figure out where to look. Leone. It still doesn't feel right.]
. . . Yeah. [Voice low, he dips his chin in the briefest of nods.] I'm listening.
a dude cover of style by taylor swift is playing, it seems appropriate
[Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he's paranoid. Maybe staring at Sumio's back for full minutes longer than he ought to, as this smoke break stretches on past absentmindedness and into avoidance, doesn't mean anything at all.]
[Except they've known each other for years, and it does. He knows it does. The way Sumio stands, shoulders just a hint tenser, spine just so much straighter than usual — it'd mean nothing at all to most people, but him, he's seen too many smoke breaks, too many stomped-out cigarettes. Too many bad moods and quiet moods. He's seen too much of Sumio, period.]
[The night's dark. Through the cracked car window, he can smell his partner's shitty cheap cigarettes, the ones he used to complain about in earnest and now does out of habit. The scent's become a guilty comfort. He steals them sometimes, except it's not stealing if Sumio lets him, and he's pretty sure Sumio does know.]
[So — yeah. Something's up. It is. But Sumio's gonna tell him. He has to trust in that. And just as he thinks that, Sumio speaks, opens the door, slides in next to him.]
[Leone. Eyes on his lips, which press together in a moment of self-consciousness before going carefully relaxed. He can't figure out where to look. Leone. It still doesn't feel right.]
. . . Yeah. [Voice low, he dips his chin in the briefest of nods.] I'm listening.
[He's always listening.]