“I was occupied.”
A pause.
Then, in the driest voice possible, “You got laid.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Hm.”
That one syllable contains an unreasonable amount of smugness.
“I was trying to work out whether your evening ended with you sulking at home, or whether, for once, it was a little less tragic.”
I look out through the café window.
“It was less tragic.”
Another pause.
Longer.
“Hm,” he says again.
“Don’t.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
“That sounds like a personal issue.”
Fair.
“I’m boarding in a bit,” he says. “Flying to KL with Jasper.”
I had forgotten that was today.
“Try to contain your heartbreak.”
“I’ll attempt to survive,” I snort.
“I had an idea on the way to Heathrow,” he says. “Thought I’d book in at Iron & Ash when I’m back later this month. You still due another tattoo?”
A week ago, over drinks, I’d mentioned wanting one.
I don’t have a design in mind yet. Just the usual itch that turns up every now and then when life feels a little too settled and I start eyeing empty skin like unused space.
I stare at the chalkboard menu without seeing any of it.
“What are you getting?” I ask.
“A raven. Or something close enough. I’ll decide when I hate airports less.”
That drags a small laugh out of me.
“Useful.”
