Re: gotham russian tea room; loren & jules
"Don't think you know how to take words as anything but," Loren said with his tongue crammed against the inside of his cheek. The tea was hot, and yes, it burned the tip of his tongue to the point of numb, but Loren didn't mind. He didn't mind, and he'd taken that second sip to not give Jules the satisfaction of being right about something Jules knew little or nothing about(Russian tea), but Loren didn't go for another after that.
There was something different about Jules, and Loren eyed him cautiously from the side for a moment as he tried to pin down what it was. It didn't seem to be time, not the way that other people came through the hotel wearing lines around their eyes and years under their belts, muscles tighter with age. It didn't feel like that for Loren either, not really. He'd been younger in Las Vegas, sure, but the years between had put him clearer into his 30s and less maybe in his 30s. There was more muscle in the jaw, something broader about him as a whole that didn't speak of a second chance at youth. His youth was sucked away in a hole somewhere, lost down the drainpipe of a bullet that still left a scar searing through the haircut he kept so short.
But Jules, he thought, was the same. Different and the same, a miracle in that way, and Loren did not lean away when the dress squeaked against the seat.
"Yes," he answered while he fingered the rim of his tea cup, watching Jules like he was waiting for Round Two of Not-Personal.