Re: Diner: 1AM-ish
The diner reminded him of home. Of having his favourite greasy spoon in every borough - except the one he’d grown up in, naturally. The diners on the Upper West Side all had chic, retro-kitschy decor and they sold $6 iced cappuccinos and cheese blintzes that cost $14.95. His parents hired a chef for all their holiday meals but his mother or Bubbe were usually the ones to cook, and family meals had always been mandatory, but Billy’s dad loved taking them to hole-in-the-wall diners on day trips out to get vinyl and comics. Questionable hygiene practices were absolutely worth it for pancakes as wide as your head.
So he liked the diner. He used to meet up here with Oliver, and then sometimes Destiny would take him out for breakfast after they’d both finished working. And it was the familiar memory of those nights and a hundred others over the years that had him draped across his side of the booth with his back pressed to the corner and one leg stretched out on the seat. Plus the Valium, that helped. “I didn’t mean either of those,” he clarified, eyes narrowing a little as he tilted his head back in consideration of the guy across the table. “You look less like you’re a sketch only half-coloured in.” The words weren’t slurred, exactly. But he was very aware of his tongue in his mouth, and that made his smile crack a little higher. He looked up as the waitress came up with the guy’s coffee and slid his own mug across the table for a refill, but moved his fingers over the rim to stop her before it was all the way full and nodded his thanks.
“And for the record,” he added, blotted-dark gaze of wide pupils swinging back in the other guy’s direction as he pulled a mostly-full pint of cheap vodka out of his jacket and unscrewed the cap. “I mean that as a compliment, too.” The waitress either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he poured a splash into his mug and tossed in another sugar cube. He snorted. "I don't think it exists for shit, no. And you'd have a much harder time making me bleed, off the tracks."
The grin edged a little wolfish. He'd thought about giving the guy 'Pesha', but he'd told other people about what he'd been on the train and was way beyond the point of giving a fuck. "Billy. Middle name Gabriel, so do with that what you like. You can be whoever you want to be, though. That's the beauty."