newpest | 受信箱

受信箱

武 Лев Ковач

VIDEO | AUDIO | DISCO

Kovacs relaxes, much less subtly. He leans back, finally settling into proper seiza, too-long arms laid limply out on the table.

"We haven't known each other for a while," he says carefully. "But I know you have my back. Consider it mutual."

If that ever happens again...

Tess nods. Being dignified about the surge of satisfaction that gives her feels like a choice, but no matter how much she'd like to play it cool, there's relief there. Resolve.

"Thanks, Takeshi," she replies. "And any time you need me, I'm here."

"Takeshi," he murmurs under his breath. He hasn't been called that in a while, outside of Ortega's bed. Even there, it had shocked him. It always does.

It makes him smile, though it's a small, ugly thing on a broad, ugly face. He raises his almost empty fruit cup. "Kanpai," and drinks the dregs.

"Need a walk back to your cabin?"

Tess, eyebrows furrowed but smiling, just raises hers in turn. She hates last name basis. It feels like a weapon sometimes — a forced unfamiliarity, a family name for people who don’t have one. It’s a careful line to step around.

“I’m good, if she jumps me I’ll just get her demoted,” Tess replies, breezily. “You gonna be okay alone?”

"She wouldn't kill you," he says, half defensive, half bored. People think Ortega's much worse than she is, and honestly, it's almost funny, if everything in this place wasn't so fucking sad. "What, you worried I'll get lonely?"

It’s always guys like this, all wounded differently, but always profoundly alone. Tess feels it under her skin. Admitting you worry about anyone is like giving up some measure of safety, and it has seldom been rewarding, but she’ll try again and again. It makes her feel stupid.

She gets to her feet, looms over him for a second.

“708, if you do. Any time, okay?”