[ She's gotten herself ninety percent convinced of the trick of loneliness when that other ten percent just brushes her every thought aside; at this close distance, there's no mistaking that voice for anyone else. She can't get a word out edgewise when he talks to the bartender, and her heart is racing a mile a minute.
It would be easier if it was anxiety. Easier if it was fear of being found out. But it's nothing of the sort.
She bites her lower lip to keep from speaking too soon, and with a slow, held breath, she turns her head to glance over at the man beside her, and... god. She didn't think it would hurt this bad — didn't think it would comfort her this much. ]
Jaime Reyes.
[ There are differences, of course, but they're the little, superficial things. The way he wears his hair slicked back, in the fashion of the fashionable guys around here. The clean shave of his jaw. The fit and the cut of his clothing. The cologne. The fact he's ordering beer.
The way there's no warmth in his voice, when he mentions her. The way he looks at her without his eyes crinkling at the corners or his lips even retraining a smile.
It's a different kind of hell, but it's hell all the same.
Ruka pivots to lean a little more firmly on the bar, something to offset the weakness of her legs, and she smiles like tightening a wire. ]
You could have fooled me. [ He can be made out of exactly however much money he wants to be made of. She lets her chin rest on her upturned palm, still skimming the details of his face — all his missing little scars. ] Surprised to see you here, though. Don't tell me you're already bored of Paradise Island?
no subject
It would be easier if it was anxiety. Easier if it was fear of being found out. But it's nothing of the sort.
She bites her lower lip to keep from speaking too soon, and with a slow, held breath, she turns her head to glance over at the man beside her, and... god. She didn't think it would hurt this bad — didn't think it would comfort her this much. ]
Jaime Reyes.
[ There are differences, of course, but they're the little, superficial things. The way he wears his hair slicked back, in the fashion of the fashionable guys around here. The clean shave of his jaw. The fit and the cut of his clothing. The cologne. The fact he's ordering beer.
The way there's no warmth in his voice, when he mentions her. The way he looks at her without his eyes crinkling at the corners or his lips even retraining a smile.
It's a different kind of hell, but it's hell all the same.
Ruka pivots to lean a little more firmly on the bar, something to offset the weakness of her legs, and she smiles like tightening a wire. ]
You could have fooled me. [ He can be made out of exactly however much money he wants to be made of. She lets her chin rest on her upturned palm, still skimming the details of his face — all his missing little scars. ] Surprised to see you here, though. Don't tell me you're already bored of Paradise Island?