THE END OF IT ALL // Prologue
masterlist and shit (coming whenever)
The two of them sit shoulder to shoulder on a bench overlooking the harbor. Containers stacked three stories high on the left, colors muted in the dark; they all look grey. Same goes for the crane silhouettes a mile in the distance. It's not winter anymore, but the night's air is cool enough to make their breaths visible, emphasized by the plumes of smoke he occasionally puffs out. The sound of creeping waves beyond the parking lot makes the silence between them feel less heavy. The tide must be coming in.
They shudder as he carefully rolls the remains of his cigarette, until the ember is dislodged. It falls like a spark and bursts upon hitting the asphalt, bits of orange-glowing ash immediately extinguished in the murky puddle.
"I wasn't expecting leniency," he mutters eventually, tone measured. "But I guess I get it."
He takes a deep, apprehensive breath, pocketing the cigarette filter, shoes dragging on loose gravel as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Clean hands rubbed warm, callous against callous. It's hard to tell in the dark, but they think he might be looking at the body, or at least in that direction.
They grit their teeth, still scraping their fingernails from what lingers, one nail at a time, and flicking whatever emerges at the ground. A few clicks off the coast, a cruise ship marks the loneliest light across the horizon. It comes out a little too inarticulate, a little too quiet: "Deserved it. Right?"
He snorts. "I think," he mutters, only to hesitate again. Another drawn-out sigh from deep in his chest as he lightly rolls his shoulders, and then he gets up. He circles around with casual steps, carefully avoiding the puddle, and hooks the toe of his shoe under one wrist. Watches the slack, pale hand fall back down. "I think," he repeats, looking back at them, "that if anyone has the solitary right to answer that question, it's you."
