| [As the door opens to admit the next customer, Thoma pulls the earbuds from his ears.
The ice in his drink melted long ago, its watery blur at the top of the cup mocking him more than a clock could dare. He lifts his phone, looks at the screen with no change in expression, puts it down again face-down on the table. Soft rain beats on the window near his head soundlessly; he blinks, aware all at once that it was not raining when he arrived.
He picked this out of the way table with its view of the door so he could spot without being spotted. To disappear into the crowd, for once, to join the many whose gazes grace streaked windowpanes while music plays only for them and thoughts flow in and out to torment them alone.
Now that shuffle wants him to suffer, he's listening to the noise of the room again - and he hears the door jingle, looking up in time to realize that's Aether. He'd recognize Aether no matter how much time has passed. Thoma's shoulders lift; he turns his head slightly toward the window, letting his eyes look without the benefit of the rest of him staring too.
Aether hasn't seen him yet. On an ordinary day, Thoma would probably have known he was in the area, from his photos if nothing else. When Aether heads for the line at the counter, rather than scanning the crowd for anyone he might want to meet, he relaxes enough to straighten his back but refuses to turn his head. They met through business; maybe he's just here to carry out his business now and then he'll leave.
This is a corner for going unnoticed. Thoma's thoughts cast about for something to screen him (a plastic plant? a newspaper? do they even have those here? he's definitely seen an obnoxious enough water bottle in his life that could work?) but his hands, aware of the inevitable, merely twitch upon the tabletop. They know, too, that he's too well known, he's a friend to too many people. Sooner or later, someone will see. They'll come over, sit with a friendly hello in the chair opposite, Thoma-it's-been-a-while with no care at all for the precipice over which they have stuck one entire leg.
How have you been? followed sweetly and rightfully by how's your-
The station playing over the cafe's speakers kicks in with a new song and Thoma groans, dropping his head into his hands.] |
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