Teagan. Teagan wasn’t a big talker. Keeping company with strangers, Cosimo realised, wasn’t something that he needed. He needed the company of those he knew; he needed the company of those who knew him. Someone he could talk to, about topics of mutual interest. Should he find Athena? Annoy her? Pull her away from her job or her friends or her family or her interested, her secrets, and thus give up his own secrets? Maybe. She was his girlfriend. They had told each other they loved one another. So why couldn’t these things be shared? Except, he was always so uncertain.
He sighed as he rubbed at his temple, staring down at the floor that he had, he hoped, cleaned to the best of his ability. At least there’d been limited splatter. At least his sick wasn’t all over the chair legs, or spilled halfway to the bar. At least he hadn’t had too much of the wine, and the sick was just gloopy rice and bread crumbs. There was hardly any liquid involved. No one seemed to have noticed the blood threaded through. No one really expected anyone to throw up blood, now did they? Not someone who was smiling and seemingly happy and well.
As he stood the mop back up in the bucket, the waitress had come back to collect it. This time she had a smile and a thank you - whether the boss had talked to her and told her to be genial, or whether she was genuinely thankful that the sick man had cleaned up his own mess, Cosimo would never know. He just nodded and muttered another apology, before he slid back into the chair he had previously occupied.
Though now that he was no longer going to eat or drink, what was the point in staying?
”Cosimo,” he said. He went to offer a hand, but pulled it back again. He’d just used that hand to clean up his own sick. It didn’t seem right, to shake this stranger’s hand with it.
”I...is everything okay?” he asked. It was a question he’d asked a stranger once before, and he’d got in trouble for it. As if it was taboo. As if it wasn’t something anyone was supposed to ask a stranger. But Cosimo couldn’t help himself. She was so quiet, and she seemed so forlorn. It was the natural thing to ask.
He sighed as he rubbed at his temple, staring down at the floor that he had, he hoped, cleaned to the best of his ability. At least there’d been limited splatter. At least his sick wasn’t all over the chair legs, or spilled halfway to the bar. At least he hadn’t had too much of the wine, and the sick was just gloopy rice and bread crumbs. There was hardly any liquid involved. No one seemed to have noticed the blood threaded through. No one really expected anyone to throw up blood, now did they? Not someone who was smiling and seemingly happy and well.
As he stood the mop back up in the bucket, the waitress had come back to collect it. This time she had a smile and a thank you - whether the boss had talked to her and told her to be genial, or whether she was genuinely thankful that the sick man had cleaned up his own mess, Cosimo would never know. He just nodded and muttered another apology, before he slid back into the chair he had previously occupied.
Though now that he was no longer going to eat or drink, what was the point in staying?
”Cosimo,” he said. He went to offer a hand, but pulled it back again. He’d just used that hand to clean up his own sick. It didn’t seem right, to shake this stranger’s hand with it.
”I...is everything okay?” he asked. It was a question he’d asked a stranger once before, and he’d got in trouble for it. As if it was taboo. As if it wasn’t something anyone was supposed to ask a stranger. But Cosimo couldn’t help himself. She was so quiet, and she seemed so forlorn. It was the natural thing to ask.
