"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.
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.
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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?"
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“I’m good, if she jumps me I’ll just get her demoted,” Tess replies, breezily. “You gonna be okay alone?”
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She gets to her feet, looms over him for a second.
“708, if you do. Any time, okay?”
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She dips down to squeeze his shoulder briefly and leaves.