3 Works in Juragan (Halfworlds)
"Will you be my partner?"
Gusti froze in the middle of buttoning his shirt, a light brown one, which was a gift from Juragan, after his best shirt got ruined in a fight with a Palasik.
"I, uh." Stuttering, he played with the button of the shirt. Did Juragan mean what he thought he said? "I don't know, sir." He ended up saying dumbly.
Juragan stood from his bed, chuckling like he always did whenever Gusti’s action seemed to amuse him. This looked like one of those moments. Soft cotton sheet falling down his hips slowly, revealing an inch more of skin with every move. Obviously, he was naked underneath. Juragan never bothered to put any clothes on whenever they were done with their nightly (and sometimes even daily) activity.
- Part 5 of The Halfworlders
Gusti sat, getting himself comfortable in old and worn couch. He picked up his cup, drinking his favorite brand of strong black tea that somehow ended up on his cupboard every time he felt like drinking one. It was an expensive brand, the one he tried once while in a meeting in Juragan’s office. The heavenly aroma and rich taste made him fell in love at first cup. But he knew it was too expensive for his cop’s salary.
A few sips relaxed his tired body and spiking headache (he hasn’t eaten anything since last night), and he put the cup on the coffee table as he closed his eyes, trying not to think about his boss’ recent unusual behavior. He tried to focus his mind on his work; to hoodlum he put behind the bars today, thankfully a human. To the stack of paperwork on his desk, waiting to be finished. To the laundry he still hasn’t wash yet.
But his mind chose Juragan to finally focus on.
- Part 2 of The Halfworlders
The voice on the phone sounded light. Nothing indicated anger or even any kind of fluctuation in the tone of voice. But Gusti knew that tone. Juragan only used it when he was really angry.
He sighed. It was his fault, he knew, clutching the knife wound on his left bicep. He failed to protect Sarah, which he was sure was some kind of insurance or important figure to Juragan, letting those insufferable duo kidnapped her, even earning the wound in the process. It was only a graze, but it hurt nonetheless, the gaping slash still bleeding sluggishly as he wrapped it tightly with his handkerchief. It’ll have to do for now. Boss didn’t like waiting.
Wiping his hands on his pants, making sure no blood would dirty Juragan’s expensive–looking door, he pushed on the handle and went in. Inside, Juragan stood stiffly behind his mahogany desk. Yeah. You’re fucked, Gusti.
- Part 1 of The Halfworlders