Re: Diner: 1AM-ish
The diner wasn’t quite at it’s peak of the night rush, wasn’t yet packed with the spillover from the bars after last call when drunks clamoured for bacon and fries that dripped greasy down clumsy, salted fingers. So the door’s chime as it swung open still cut through the clatter of silverware being polished by a gum-popping bus boy at the counter, and drew Billy’s gaze from the vinyl crumbling under his fingernail. His head swung back a little with the lift of his chin, neck muscles loose, and the smile that buckled halfway across his mouth looser.
The guy who’d entered was direct in his path while still sauntering, somehow, which Billy had to admire. That was either calculated effort perfected, or helped along chemically. Both, maybe. There was enough time to scan the length of him as Billy lifted his mug to his mouth and sipped, the skin along his fingers flaring heat to warm the coffee inside since it’d come to him already cooling to start. They were mirrored in cheekbones, blown pupils, probably the hair height but the similarities seemed to end there. Outwardly, he didn't feel a lot like the creature he’d been on the train. Above the smell of scorched coffee there was something like charcoal, not soil and thunder. No existential crisis twisting at the corners of his mouth and the space between his brows. The smile was almost blithe.
“You sound the same, but you look a little more... substantial.”