Passions That Run Similar Lines [Antonio]

[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur didn’t normally allow himself a meal break in the middle of the day. There was often too many things to accomplish and so little time to get them done. Not when he was still working on his largest assignment from headquarters. The same case that had saved him from the full wrath of their prosecution, the reason why he was still walking around freely, even if he was still given an extraordinarily lengthy chain. Things like lunch seemed so inconsequential, particularly when too much happened during the few hours in midday that those on the workforce took off. There were people to keep under his radar and minor missions to complete in connection to the future monumental takedown. Lunch simply did not have much importance in his schedule, particularly at this moment.

Even with his workload, while walking through the ever familiar Hoxton Square, his eyes came to rest on an even more familiar café that that had inexplicably been a usual spot for him within the past year. Arthur was well acquainted with the owner, a tumultuous bond that had been sealed the moment the Spaniard ratted out two dangerous men, both of whom were feeling appropriately murderous toward the ‘English tart’ who had previously ratted them out. Said agent remained rather smug after the fact, wondering how it felt to be fucked over twice by the same man they frequently targeted. Irony was achingly beautiful at times.

Before Arthur could talk himself out of taking a break, he walked through the café’s doors, surmising that he could still do a bit of business with the owner while he was here. And if there was no business to be had, then there was always the promise of a bit of fun, with the exchange of vicious or friendly words with a Spanish tongue. As usual when the Englishman was working, he was dressed smartly, a charcoal peacoat over his usual vested suit, though his sleeves had been rolled to his elbows and the first few buttons undone, as if tugging loose at an ever present noose. Draped loosely was a blood red scarf. Arthur had always enjoyed accents of red, though the colour clashed harshly with the hue of his eyes. Conflicting, yet complimentary.

Upon entering, the rich smells of coffee, tea, and Spanish cooking assaulted his senses. And as usual, if bothered for an opinion, he’d admit: it wasn’t intolerable. Yes, that’s exactly why he came here so often, his preferred haunt most mornings and afternoons, why he sought Toni's company, and why he lingered on occasion. It was always hard to drag any sort of compliment out of Arthur, but as far as Antonio and his café went, they were definitely there, hidden beneath a bed of his barbed, dry humour.

Once seating himself at one of the bar-stools, he ordered, ”The usual.” Most of the workers here knew their regulars, and Arthur was one of these. His fingers gently pulled at the scarf slowly from his throat, threading the material lightly between his fingers in thought. His mind was still half at work. ”Make it strong, please,” Arthur added, as if in afterthought. He normally liked his tea black here, but preferred it seeping an extra minute when he really needed the caffeine. After a long pause, Arthur broke free from whatever had been plaguing his mind and his eyes searched the café, hoping to catch a glimpse of the smiling Spanish bastard (spoken with a certain degree of the usual strychnine-lined affection that Arthur would be hard pressed to admit, of course.)

He wondered how irritated Antonio would be if the Englishman were to poke around his living quarters uninvited just upstairs. It’s not as if he were a stranger to those either. Toni’s passionate ire, or passionate exuberance (Arthur didn’t care which he got) were exactly what he craved at the moment. And he was going to extract it, if need be. For now, he was given his black tea with two sugars and he savoured it until the next best thing decided to finally grace him with his presence.

tag // @donquioxte