The kiss was halting and unsure. Responding was second nature, natural, more of a feeling then a thought as soft lips pressed against his. It wasn’t sweet, like a fairytale. There was a sour taste, a mixture of cigarettes and coffee. Unappealing but oh so good nonetheless.
“Sir, your eleven o’clock appointment has cancelled.”
Tseng’s stiff, formal, detached, as always.
“Thank you,” Rufus murmurs.
His response is automatic. All he has ever been able to mutter despite the memories that haunt him. The nod he receives is mute and stark. A suitable addition to the dance they both weave endlessly.