[ Somewhere with nothing to trick you, he says, as if he isn't talking to the biggest trickster in the room. If this place isn't safe from Soleum, then it isn't safe from anything. His coat lands on top of his desk. Soleum doesn't take him up on his offer of the place right beside him, but he does sit on the arm of the couch, a safe distance apart. He can stay, just for a short while.
The dark outline of his scar quivers along the notches of his throat as he surely empties a quarter of the can into his stomach. He really has done this a number of times, without repercussion, hasn't he? ]
There are a lot of items left behind by others here, [ Soleum says, politely glancing about. Right before their mission into the ocean palace, they had a similar conversation about this place. The haunted painting one of his old teammates brought in. The leftover notes, not just scrawled on the board, but left all over the room: in old case files, stuck to the bottom side of his desk drawers, even etched into the wood of their coffee table. It's a place that's never solely belonged to one person, but seems to have indiscriminately welcomed all sorts of people these past several years.
Back then, he'd called it pleasant, but — yes, Agent Choi is right. It is steadying, knowing it's somewhere that will be here long after Soleum has left.
Finally, he takes the other can left on the table, pinching the tab open. ]
Whenever I come here, it has a warm feeling. It's no wonder you leave a bunch of home goods lying around.
[Soleum sits on the edge of the couch as if he's ready to stand up and head out at any moment. It's almost a relief he picks up the beer. Choi watches him, the can held to his lips, then slowly reaches over and tugs on his sleeve.]
You don't want to sit?
[C'monnnnn. Relax with your sunbae who you spent all afternoon with. He stares up at him expectantly.]
This place is like a home to us - Bronze feels the same way. [Hence the "home goods." The notes on the board, the beer in the fridge for long days. The blankets in the closet, the silly plastic desk figures they've gotten from grocery stores as free promotional items. But is it because it's all things from other people that Grapes doesn't feel as if it's "his" home, too?]
Even though this is a workplace, it's part of who we are. That's why it feels like home.
[He leans his head back on the sofa, still staring up at him expectantly. The tilt of his head reveals the long length of his scar, jagged and rough.]
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The dark outline of his scar quivers along the notches of his throat as he surely empties a quarter of the can into his stomach. He really has done this a number of times, without repercussion, hasn't he? ]
There are a lot of items left behind by others here, [ Soleum says, politely glancing about. Right before their mission into the ocean palace, they had a similar conversation about this place. The haunted painting one of his old teammates brought in. The leftover notes, not just scrawled on the board, but left all over the room: in old case files, stuck to the bottom side of his desk drawers, even etched into the wood of their coffee table. It's a place that's never solely belonged to one person, but seems to have indiscriminately welcomed all sorts of people these past several years.
Back then, he'd called it pleasant, but — yes, Agent Choi is right. It is steadying, knowing it's somewhere that will be here long after Soleum has left.
Finally, he takes the other can left on the table, pinching the tab open. ]
Whenever I come here, it has a warm feeling. It's no wonder you leave a bunch of home goods lying around.
no subject
You don't want to sit?
[C'monnnnn. Relax with your sunbae who you spent all afternoon with. He stares up at him expectantly.]
This place is like a home to us - Bronze feels the same way. [Hence the "home goods." The notes on the board, the beer in the fridge for long days. The blankets in the closet, the silly plastic desk figures they've gotten from grocery stores as free promotional items. But is it because it's all things from other people that Grapes doesn't feel as if it's "his" home, too?]
Even though this is a workplace, it's part of who we are. That's why it feels like home.
[He leans his head back on the sofa, still staring up at him expectantly. The tilt of his head reveals the long length of his scar, jagged and rough.]
Sit with me a bit.