As it is clear that Duo needs surgery as the bullet is wedged in his body, the nurse proceeds to take his stats and writes them down on her impeccable clipboard. He has to be prepared for the surgery, and I do hope for her benefit that she gets the anesthesia right. I remind myself that probably no one likes to work in these conditions, but even after the first colonies launched in space, Eastern Europe never managed to catch up with the Western countries. I wonder if it is the communism they were forced to live with for so long, or the general mentality- it is hard to make that change into a democratic or republic society, and there will always be people opposing… as there will always be people opposing to peace. I still recall my initial shock when Relena sought me out, recruiting me to work for the ESUN, taking me quite by surprise when she, the international symbol of peace, clearly admitted that there were people working against her, forces rising to threat the peace she had worked so hard for. I never thought to refuse, not for one second.
“Finished,” the doctor says out loud, jerking me from my thoughts. Duo scurries around in search for his shirt that I am holding in my hands.
I hand it over to him, and he mumbles thanks before putting the garment back on. Navratil wrings his hands a little. “I’ll make sure an OR will be prepared as soon as possible so we can take care of it. It won’t take long.” He throws a stern look at the nurse, who has every piece of information written down. She flushes faintly, but the message is clear- she leaves the room in a hurry.
--
The hallway is cold and empty, and I’m really starting to hate those bland colors. When Duo moved in with me, he insisted on repainting and redecorating my apartment –it didn’t take very long to conclude that my three bedroom apartment was preferable over his draft, shoddy loft- in bright colors, declaring loudly that he despised my chrome and plastic interior. I have never bothered with design, as long as the furniture I bought was functional, serving its purpose. He had a field day moving the furniture around, picking new colors, and painting the walls accordingly his own ideas. I must say that my apartment really looks nice and warm now. I did not have any reason to fear he would turn it into some circus act.
“Labó,” I hear a voice behind me. I know it is Trowa, and I slowly turn around. He looks a bit gruff, probably from all the talking he had to do to satisfy the police officers before he was finally allowed to leave.
“Vavrin,” I acknowledge his presence. He motions with his head- there are isolated visitor rooms nearby. Without saying another word, I follow him. The first room is occupied, but the second is empty. I sweep it for bugs –yes, another instinct- , but nothing in this room even remotely indicates of being bugged… there is nothing but three plastic chairs and something akin to a coffee table in here. I can imagine how it feels like to be in here, awaiting news- it is nothing short of a prison cell.
Trowa opens a package of cigarettes, but remembers that he’s in a hospital and puts it away, a slight frown of irritation flashing over his face.
“How’s he doing?”
“In surgery at the moment,” I answer. “Considerable blood loss for such a small bullet wound.”
“It was at close range,” Trowa reminds me. “Very close range. Duo’s lucky he was only hit in the shoulder.”
“Luck of the devil,” I mumble, before continuing. “Navratil is a competent doctor. After the X-rays he has taken upon himself to do the surgery; the bullet has lodged itself in the shoulder blade.”
“Damn,” Trowa only says. A minute of silence falls, before he takes up the conversation again. “Sedlacek deserves a medal, though. He was quick to the scene and dealt with the situation professionally.”
I’m not in the mood to hear about him- I know he is good, that is why I selected him.
“Is there any news on the shooter?” I sound grumpy, but Trowa knows me well enough to see right through it.
“Dimitrije Sudzukovic, 56, unemployed Serbian with a gambling problem,” he quickly summarizes. “From what I gather, it must’ve been a simple liquidation by a rivaling organization. Sudzukovic probably only got paid enough to clean his gambling debts and alcohol bills.” The disdain is clear in his voice. “Not a professional hit man by far, just an unhappy sod who’s been offered some quick money and is close enough to his absolute downfall to see it as his only way out.”
“Who has hired him?” I ask. I know this is a relatively common work method; with money used as bait, usually social outcasts or people at the end of their rope are lured into a job, often expected to die without their knowledge... it’s cheap, and it stinks.
“I’m looking into it,” Trowa says sourly. “I don’t know how much it’s worth giving it a shot, though- there are too many organized crime circles with lots of rivalry going on. If they are working on simple contracts, it could take too long to find out who’s been hiring him.”
“Keep a close eye on Sedlacek and what he finds out.” I don’t name the other officer- he’s too caught up in the glory and regulations of his idolized bureaucratic country. Hruby is the archetype of a police officer that needs to be purged from the system, and replaced by more men like Sedlacek. Trowa merely nods. “I take it our chances of success are gone now?”
I shrug. The infiltration of the organization seems hardly important now Duo is in surgery. It’s a mere bullet wound; we both have had worse injuries, but still... these people are smuggling. Weapons, cigarettes, women, drugs, money… tainting, destroying society and lives. This is the work I’m cut out for- to protect the innocent, guard the peace, keep the ones I love safe… if only the one I love most had not signed up for this work as well.
“He’s one of us,” Trowa suddenly says, voice stern. He must have guessed my train of thought, as he certainly is not speaking of Sedlacek or Sudzukovic. “He can take care of himself. You know he can. He doesn’t need his hand held.”
“I know.” I can’t help but snap, but Trowa does not take offense. “I am entitled to worry about his condition.”
“Of course you are.” He snorts a little. “I’m worried as well- I don’t like to see my friends put in the hospital. This is only minor- we need to keep our heads straight.”
It irritates me that Trowa of all people is correcting me. I don’t know why, exactly… I’ve always valued his opinion and his input, and knowing his background, I’ve always wanted his respect. I know I’ve earned it and he gives it to me, just as I give him mine. Why does it irritate me? I know Duo can take care of himself. I do not owe him any apology or responsibility. I did not fail him… or did I? Duo’s words in the café have not left my mind; instead they are infesting my thoughts. I have really failed him, by not assessing the elderly man, Sudzukovic, right.
“Don’t go there,” Trowa talks to me again, in the same, stern voice. “None of this is your fault. You know that as well as the others do. We always take variable factors into account when planning the missions. Stop it, right now. I’ve been there too, remember?”
How could I forget? Haven’t we all been there, seeing a friend, a colleague, a teammate, going down from the guilt they burden themselves with? Asking questions nobody has an answer to? It’s the job we do- a dangerous one, and I’ve known that from the beginning, when I put my signature on the contract. I do not want to go down into that spiral of useless thoughts, asking myself whether what I did was wrong or right, never to find the answer- and failing Duo even more because of my uncertainty. Trowa knows the right things to say to put me with both feet back to the ground.
“Why don’t you two come over to my place when this is all over?” He asks, gauging my reaction. It will take a while before more information is released, if Sedlacek is good enough to trace everything concerning the two card players and Sudzukovic. Our mission is shot, literally- but this is also another indication that apparently another organization felt threatened, and felt the need to hire someone to do their dirty job.
“Excellent idea,” I finally confirm. Duo is going to need some rest after the surgery, and we can discuss our new approach concerning this case. After reporting to Lady Une, that is; retreat and regroup the most basic military strategy. No, we do not lick wounds. We stick our heads together to come up with a new plan, be it infiltrating again or an all-out bust. We work for the ESUN, and we have a mission to deal with. “Where are you living now?”
His lips show a small smile. “I give you the address as soon as it’s cleared. The apartment needs redecorating.”
The standard code for denoting that his place probably is not safe and I nod, acknowledging the information. This is not the only mission Trowa is working on, and for mine – and his - protection, he does not divulge any details.
Our conversation has ended. Trowa excuses himself, claiming he goes to look around for some coffee. I wish him good luck, without sarcasm- the only vending machine I have seen on our way here, looked like it was run over by a 4x4 truck. I doubt it offers much more than the inevitable cold beverages. I stick my hands in my pockets, awaiting any news from Navratil about Duo. My mind wanders off, thinking about Duo... my Duo. Maxwell’s Demon, as some people like to refer to him. He has always hated it when he is referred to as that; it reminds him too much of the church, and how it was destroyed. He still blames himself for that, I just know it- but I can’t help him with it, just as he can’t help me with my nightmare about the little girl and that puppy dog and my mission… I shake my head. There are nights when he just crawls in my arms and his eyes stare blank in front of him, almost void of any emotion. I wrap my arms around him, leaving it up to him to speak or not to speak. I’m not the person to pry; I’m not the right person to pry. Whenever he feels strong enough for it, he will tell me... tell me about this church and what exactly happened, just as I will tell him that I caused the death of a little girl and when I first started to understand that a war even demands the life of innocents.
“Bojan Labó?”
I spin around, on the balls of my feet, jerked out of my thoughts. Doctor Navratil stands in the open doorway, sporting a reassuring smile. “The surgery has been successful. The bullet has been removed, and your friend is sleeping off his anesthetic right now.”
I feel relief washing over me; I didn’t expect anything else but a successful surgery- still, nothing can take the anxiety and stress away when the one you love is injured.
“Show me his room,” I all but bark, adding a “Thank you” far too late. The doctor remains unfazed, motioning for me to follow. Walking behind the man, my mind’s already working out the next stage of our plan and the next steps we have to take. Duo’s flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants attitude combined with my analytical mind always work wonders on a mission, even to the surprise of Lady Une. I also make a mental note to talk to her; she demands a briefing after every mission, and no doubt she wants to know why the mission was botched. Botched… I hate the word, especially because our mission wasn’t botched… more like sabotaged. I grit my teeth. I’ll ask Trowa to find everything out about Sudzukovic and his motives- and interrogate the man forcibly, if need be.
Trowa soundlessly walks up to me, his mission to find coffee unsuccessful, as he carries a bottle of cola. He offers me the bottle and I’m too thirsty to decline; I usually despise those kinds of soft drinks with a passion. Too sugary, too... bubbly. Duo loves the stuff, something I chalk up to his American roots- that is; we both think he’s American. He doesn’t mind being associated with a sugar and bubble gum culture with bad music and even more bad TV shows- but that’s my opinion, and my opinion about TV shows isn’t appreciated, most of the time.
Navratil navigates through the wide hallways, leaving room after room behind him. After a five minute walk, he opens the door to a room at the end of a corridor.
“Your friend is in here. Fifteen minutes, no more. He needs to stay overnight, and if there aren’t any complications he can leave tomorrow after a check-up.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I answer him and he opens his mouth to start to lecture me about bullet wounds and how to take care of them after surgery, but my glare is sufficient to shut him up. I brush past him, entering the room, my eyes immediately scanning for Duo.
He lies in the bed, eyes closed, blissfully asleep. I never told Duo that I love to watch him sleep. He looks not only peaceful, but also very attractive- because his lower lip sags a little, he’s practically inviting me to kiss him. There’s nothing more I would like to do than to nip his lips, but Trowa’s here with me and I doubt he would want to see me kiss my lover. Not that he minds our relationship- it’s just something private.
Trowa and I both check him over for any suspicious procedures, but as far as we can see, everything has gone fine. The only surgery is visible on his shoulder, carefully taped and bandaged.
“He looks fine,” Trowa admits. “Navratil did a good job. I think he can come home with us tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you can give us a good address?” I haven’t forgotten his earlier remark about his apartment. He nods, patting the pocket with his cell phone. “Give me another hour.”
“Very well,” I answer, not tearing my eyes away from Duo. He looks as if nothing has happened, as if he’s just taking a nap out of tiredness.
“You’re staying with him?” Even though Trowa makes it sound like a question, it really isn’t a question. Navratil gave us only fifteen minutes, but he knows we won’t keep to that instruction. This is Duo we’re talking about- for that matter; I wouldn’t have left any of my friends unguarded in a hospital.
“It’s going to be all right,” Trowa comments again, before leaving the hospital room, cell phone in his hand. I acknowledge his exit with a mere nod of my head; we don’t need extended goodbyes.
A second after he’s through the door, I lean over Duo, brushing chestnut bangs out of his face. “Duo, it’s all right, I’m here,” I whisper. He can’t hear me, of course, but that doesn’t matter. I’m feeling tired, and I look around the room, only to see a hard plastic chair in the corner- that one will have to do. There isn’t even an extra blanket to be found; I settle into the chair, gnashing my teeth. It’s going to be a long night, but everyone be damned if they try to pry me away from my Duo’s side. His breathing is strong and even, nothing to worry about. He’s strong, maybe stronger than me. I’ve taken pride for a long time in the fact that I could cope and deal with everything so well, not understanding that I was really burying everything instead of dealing with it. Duo is open, exuberant- his way of expressing himself, and I know what lies behind those violet and blue eyes. Sadness, grief, remorse... but he knows how to live with it, even as I’m often found still fumbling around in the dark, looking to find my way of dealing with those feelings in myself. I recall very clearly that I often scorned Duo’s gregarious nature, even thinking that he wasn’t half as professional as the rest of us- it took me quite some time to see the extra layer behind Duo’s nature, just as it took me quite some time to admit what I felt for him.
A nurse enters the room to check his vitals, clipboard pressed to her chest. I don’t even bother answering her when she asks me to leave; I send her a glare and trust upon the look in my eyes to make her reconsider her words and stop harassing me. From the expression on her face, I have succeeded. I watch her like a hawk when she checks up on Duo; nothing out of the ordinary. She glances at me before she leaves the room, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the vinyl floor. I’ve already dismissed her from my mind. I check my watch and am baffled to notice that another hour has gone by. This isn’t good; I’m too tired even to take in my surroundings and keep up my observation. No matter what, the hospital still is ‘enemy territory’- I don’t know how long Sedlacek can keep everyone off our back. With a bit of luck, he’s put the case on the bottom of a ‘to do’ pile that will send even the most old fashioned bureaucrat screaming for the hills.
Duo’s face is pale and his breathing has changed a little bit; more shallow, less… forceful. He lies unmoving, almost like a wax statue, and I have to suppress my urge to touch his face to feel a little bit of warmth. I whip out my cell phone and call Trowa. If I can’t keep my eyes open, I’ll be a worthless guard over Duo.
It takes a few rings before I finally hear Trowa’s calm voice on the other end of the line.
“Labó here. Gergely’s doing fine, but I could use something to eat; soup or a sandwich..”
“I’ll bring you some soup myself,” he answers and I want to slap myself mentally for voicing a loud, surprised “Oh?” in return.
“See you soon,” is his curt response and the line goes dead- you never know who’s listening in, even though our cell phones are the latest models, bug proof, not detectable by satellite and more of that ingenious shit, as Duo likes to call it. He sometimes gets a bit carried away in his vocabulary, but everybody somehow always understands what he means. I must be really slipping, reacting as surprised as I did- what Trowa said, was just standard code that he’s going to visit me in person. Why would he come back to the hospital in person? I merely asked for some backup to keep an eye out for us- I need sleep, and I can’t function properly if I’m sleep-deprived.
It takes an hour for him to arrive, and he brings a large Styrofoam cup of soup with him when he enters the hospital room, looking a bit haggard. The soup’s almost cold, but I don’t care- food is food. I only need it to keep my body sustained and for the necessary energy, not because I’m some kind of gourmand. He pulls something wrapped in tinfoil out of the paper bag; soppy sandwiches, hastily prepared. While I munch on the food, he glances at Duo, convincing himself that everything’s all right with him, before he addresses me.
“Sudzukovic’s dead,” he plainly informs me and I almost choke on a slice of tomato.
“What?”
Trowa runs his hand through his hair, a sign of frustration. “The other card player’s also dead. Both our contacts are dead. Months of work down the drain. We’re not going to get into that scene for a long time to come.”
“Damn,” I whisper before taking another bite. At almost midnight in a bland hospital, every bit of food tastes fine, even though I wouldn’t have given it another look in any other given circumstance. “Cause of death?”
Trowa chuckles, it sounds almost hysterical. “Sudzukovic was decapitated, and they’re still busy collecting the other player’s limbs.”
I take back what I have said about the food. Suddenly it doesn’t taste at all anymore.
“Who could…?” I’m trying to process this new information, but I can’t grasp the big picture. Trowa and I both know about people like Sudzukovic -social outcasts who are lured to ‘do some business’ in exchange for money, not knowing they are used as a pawn-, who just dig their own graves deeper with every move they make.
“Decapitated? That’s not… normal liquidation style.” I eye the last piece of sandwich. My mind tells me to finish my food and my body asks for the nutrition, but something holds me aback. The last bit of soup is stone cold by now.
He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “I already spoke to Sedlacek. He doesn’t understand it at all, and is panicked. It’s his first case like this... he said that Hruby fainted when he saw Sudzukovic in the interrogation room. It was the last room in the hallway, and nobody has seen anybody leave or enter.”
“Death has done a dirty job,” I murmur. Duo stirs in the bed, emitting a soft groan. I quickly put down my sandwich, and rise from my chair to check up on him. When I look at him, I see that some color has returned to his cheeks, and he lies silent and unmoving again, after heaving a sigh. He must be dreaming.
I sit back in my chair, eyeing Trowa. He’s obviously yearning for a cigarette, and he stifles a yawn. He thrusts the paper bag right into my face.
“Here’s some fruit,” he says, “for Duo.”
“Thank you,” I answer him, returning his grin. We always look out after each other, and even though Duo does not really need the fruit, it is the gesture that counts.
He picks up on the conversation again. “As soon as all the panic has calmed down, I’ll open an investigation. I don’t know what to think of it- and I wouldn’t know who’d be willing to take the effort and time to decapitate someone.”
“It’s much easier to shoot someone in the head,” I confirm. “That’s the most common liquidation style used by gangs.”
Trowa rubs his chin. “I’ll see what I can do. I already saw that the station they brought Sudzukovic to, has hardly any camera surveillance, and it was late at night. It’s going to be asking for miracles.”
I want to ask him if he has already briefed Lady Une, but damned if I can’t remember her code name at the moment. I’m really tired; the worries about Duo’s injury and the adrenaline wearing off are draining me.
“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right,” he assures me. “I forgot to bring a blanket… you’ll be all stiff and cold in the morning.”
“I can handle it,” I answer curtly. We’ve both been in hospitals often enough to guard over someone else to know how to deal with a night of improper sleep. I only hope it won’t add too much to my crankiness.
He laughs a little, before turning around. “I’ll pick both of you up tomorrow. I assume he won’t need to be held for another night in the hospital.”
“Thanks for everything,” I say, really grateful for what he has done for me… for the both of us.
“No problem.” He knows we would do the same for him.
As he leaves, I settle in the chair, shifting and searching for a comfortable position. I hardly hear the door close, and I know I won’t be bothered by nurses -only for checking Duo’s vitals-, and that there’s someone around I can count on and trust my life upon. That’s enough for me to fall asleep, concentrating on Duo’s even breathing.
The sounds that awake me are a bit hard to recognize; my mind’s registering the sounds, but is a little bit too foggy to properly tell me what’s going on. I crack one eye open, trying to adjust to the shadowy, grey surrounding.
“Good morning, sunshine!”
“Duo…” I immediately receive something against my face and my usually quick reflexes fail me bitterly. I bring my hand up, removing an apple peel from my cheek.
“You’ve been sleeping in the chair all night, I take it? Someone’s going to be sooo cranky today...” He almost singsongs, and I know he’s only teasing me. My smile grows wider when my eyes, finally adjusted, take him in. I don’t know why he calls me ‘sunshine’, as he’s the only sunshine in the room. The blandness and greyness of the hospital literally pales in comparison to the liveliness that is Duo Maxwell… and even with some stupid hospital gown on, he looks dead sexy. I steer my thoughts carefully away from that.
He sits upright, pillows fluffed and stuffed behind his back, and is peeling apples from the brown bag Trowa brought last night.
He doesn’t look as pale as yesterday- on the contrary, his cheeks are a healthy red and his eyes are glinting with that impish, boyish look that makes him appear much younger than he is. The thick, luscious chestnut braid that I love to run my hands through -untied, that is- rests over his shoulder, the end coiling in the blankets of the bed.
I rise from my chair, lean over him and press a kiss on his forehead. “How are you…”
“Is that all I’m going to get?” He interrupts me, throwing his arms around me and dragging me onto the bed, proceeding to kiss me full on the lips.
I don’t want to push him away, but I don’t want to take the risk of Navratil or a nurse entering the room and seeing us lip-locked either. We’re still on a mission. Duo realizes this as well, as he releases me the next second, allowing me to scramble back to my chair. I have to restrain myself until we’re somewhere safe, preferably in our own apartment, or our ‘bunker’, as Duo has christened it. It’s nothing like a real bunker of course; it’s just secured with the latest technology, installed by yours truly.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him again.
“Pretty good,” he answers, putting a piece of apple into his mouth and chewing on it. The small, blunt knife he’s holding must have come out of Trowa’s shopping bag as well; I certainly didn’t bring it. It’s a miracle he’s been able to peel the apple with it, but yet again, we’ve both learned how to make the best of even the worst equipment, and Duo’s very inventive.
“Have you been awake for long?”
He shakes his head, sending his thick bangs flying. “Fifteen minutes or so? You were still asleep, and I saw the bag and got curious... it’s nice fruit. Want some?”
He’s interrupted as the door opens and a nurse wanders in. “Good morning,” she greets us both, and Duo’s awake and cheerful enough to greet her back in the native language. I merely nod my head. I haven’t seen her before; she must be from the early morning shift.
She scribbles something down on the chart at the end of Duo’s bed and continues to check his vitals. When she lifts the bandage to check up on the wound, the young woman looks baffled.
“Are you sure you’re injured?” She makes it sound like a joke, but her voice’s quivering with surprise. My interest has piqued and I want to see for myself, but she stands in my way and before I can ask her to move a little to the side, she has already put the bandage back in place.
“One shot wound, yes ma’am,” Duo quips while he waves with the blunt knife. The nurse smiles back at him, still with the amazed look on her face.
“Well, you certainly are a fast healer...” her voice trails off. After jotting some more words down on the chart, she leaves the room.
“What was that all about?” I ask, accepting the piece of peeled apple he offers me. I have a bit of a sore throat and I would appreciate a bottle of water far more… but for now, the fruit will have to do. Duo shrugs, and continues to peel another apple. “Apparently, it hardly looks like I’ve had surgery. I feel fine, like nothing has happened at all.”
“I’ve arranged for some free time,” I say, not entirely telling the truth- it’s standard procedure that after an injury, an ESUN agent is allowed some free time to recover, though the organisation keeps a very strict schedule on that. I believe that the allowed free time after a shot wound is only one week, depending on the seriousness of the injury. I’ll confirm this with Lady Une as soon as I brief her.
“Great,” he exclaims, popping another piece of apple in his mouth. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
I know how he hates hospitals; I’m not really fond of them either. “I don’t see any problem, if you really are that quick of a healer...”
“I want out,” he interrupts me, voice a bit lower than normal. “Out.”
“You’ll have to have a little bit of patience,” I admonish him. “Doctor Navratil is definitely going to be checking up on you, he was the one who did the surgery. It’s standard procedure to...”
“Screw the fucking procedures, I want out. Don’t you know what happens when you keep me inside?” He speaks loudly, as if he doesn’t care if anyone else can hear him. I lift my eyebrow.
“What’s the matter with you? I can’t push hospital procedures and..”
“Get me out!” He yells at me. “Stop fighting me, Goddamnit!”
“F-fighting you?” My mind races. Is this some weird after effect of his anaesthetics? He has had surgery before; there was that one mission on his home colony, L2…
“Stop fighting me!” He repeats, shaking his head. The apple he’s holding is crushed by the pressure of his fingers.
“You’re mangling the fruit.” I have nothing better to say, as I don’t know how to respond to his “Stop fighting me!”. I’m not fighting him, I’m sitting here in my chair and I certainly didn’t expect this kind of reaction in him to something as simple as standard hospital procedure.
For a moment he looks at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind, and then the apple is squished to pulp, his hand clenched into a fist.
“What the... eegh!” Duo waves with his hand, chunks of mauled apple flying over the blanket. “Stop that,” I say in a tone as if I’m addressing a child, and I don’t imagine the irate look on his face either. He hates it when I talk to him like that- I swear it’s not something I do on purpose.
I pull out a clean handkerchief and give it to him. He uses it to wipe his hand clean, looking at the mess he made. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“What were you talking about anyway? I didn’t fight you.”
“Fight me?” Duo chuckles. “You’re not fighting me at all. You’re sitting on your scrumptious ass and you’re looking at me! Want some more apples?”
My mouth falls wide open, not really believing my eyes. It must be the stress of the mission and the after-effects of the anaesthetic.
“Yes please,” I answer him, carefully observing his movements. He takes an apple out of the bag and winks saucily at me.
“Last one.”
“Vavrin will stop by soon and take us to somewhere relaxing,” I tell him. Duo looks in front of him, concentrating on the apple. The blunt knife is cutting rather fast… and rather smoothly. We can only keep up a neutral conversation- briefing and details about the mission will have to wait until we are out of this public environment.
I watch him peel the apple, my eyes glued to his slender fingers for some reason, wielding the knife with a precision of a surgeon, peeling the fruit of its protective skin.
“Nice,” he finally answers, after minutes have passed by. He cuts the fruit in equal parts, offering me some. I accept it, letting my eyes rest upon him, but Duo only smiles in return, his face strangely void of the warmth and exuberance he normally radiates. I guess we are both tired.
Chapter 2 | Chapter 4