In the midst of quiet conversation between locked eyes, a withering rose petal fluttered down the sullen atmosphere, I could almost hear its descent.
"I'm not sure I follow." I added a little smile, just as a little touch to the ploy; a depthened tilt in the corner that always got the ball rolling.
"Turns out crawling around the precinct in a couple of disguises isn't all that hard to figure out."
The Ink-man looked down at me, still standing by the entrance of the room. His words were spoken towards me, yet were meant for another's ear.
I paused, briefly. "Aspres."
Ink-man smiled, he turned to the side, looking at Kuroda.
"It was our pleasure meeting you here today, Sir."
That was his cue to leave, I figured. Kuroda bit his lip, smiled a little, he slapped the arm chair twice and lifted himself up.
He always left without saying goodbye.
"Kuroda!" I called out to that turned back of his. "You forgot something."
That's how it always was, his hands shoved in his pockets as if it were always cold to him, a coloured tie I was surprised dress-code had nothing to say about.
A click; a light that he tried to keep from escaping his palm like it mattered, the smoke curled up like a cloud that always kept him masked, like the job had followed him home.
It was like he never wanted to look back, I learned the shape of his back before his face. I always stayed far enough back so he couldn't hear my steps, not that I was ever good at hiding.
But sometimes he would stop, sometimes I would have to pretend like I was doing something better, like I wasn't following this man into a dead end. Maybe an interesting poster, or a cracked window, or a leaking pipe.
Whenever he did look my way, that's when I never wanted to look forward.
Suddenly the situation wasn't so bleak after all.
He looked back at me, I threw the coin through the air.
It didn't really land anywhere near him, but I always wanted to try that.
He picked it up, and for once his face wasn't this indiscernible static I couldn't make my way out of. The storm of oblivion had stopped, at least for him it did, I looked at the bits and pieces of what made up his face.
It wasn't a mess anymore.
I shot him a smile that only he could see, he shot up his hand in farewell, and then he was gone.
The streets that had folded back into white walls and whining bright lights, men who thought they knew the answer.
Ink-man and the guy who hadn't spoken a word, pulled in another chair from outside the room, then shut the door.
Maybe it was the extra bodies in the room, but suddenly everything felt heavier; like a sudden shift in the temperature.
The guy who hadn't spoken yet shifted in his chair a couple of times, leaned in forward, got comfy with his arms around the back of his chair; casual in the way casual can't be. The other remained standing despite pulling in the chair from outside, he paced around with his hands in his pocket.
Not like he was thinking, but rather ploying.
"Aspres," the one in the chair spoke. Finally, I was beginning to think he was a statue or something. "We're not here to ask you about the fire, things get hot and messy sometimes, things fail, people run."
He continued. "What you did saved the lives of many, you're a hero, you know that?"
The question was rhetorical.
He glanced back at his notes, back at me—quickly, silently.
"But what we want to know is why you were there."
"I've already explained this a hundred times," I spoke softly. "I was fixing the boiler, making sure it wouldn't explode, it was a normal job."
The one pacing around exhaled through his nose, a small laugh. "You sure fix a lot of things don't you."
The corners of my mouth curled up.
He stepped closer to me, close enough for me to look him in the eyes.
"We want to ask you about a boy."
The one sitting in the chair opened up Ink-man's notebook, there was a blurry black-and-white photo of a boy smiling, his lips curled up as condensation brewed out of his mouth. He was inside of a phone booth, the photo had to be taken from at least a couple meters away, you almost couldn't make out the blobs that thinly settled into borders.
"I'm not the best with faces." I squinted at the photo, tapped on my chin a couple of times. "Yep, definitely do not know who that is."
"Of course not, but I'm sure you remember the conversation pretty well."
He paused.
"You knew him before the fire,"
"During the fire,"
"Then, you were the last person to see him after the fire."