When Sebastian finally walked through the door, Jim would be sitting on the arm of the couch facing the door, eyes instantly unmoving on the man’s face. The only light was what leaked in through the open door and window. Jim hadn’t bothered paying this particular electric bill. Lovely and quaint as Butcher Street was, the location was effectively an urban warehouse.
Jim didn’t speak, simply let his head melt to the side. On a rug lay the body of a man, face down and quiet. The tapestry was clearly used for this purpose frequently - ragged and stained. The man was hardly better off. If he was breathing, it wasn’t enough to move his form.
Such habits weren’t unnerving anymore, and Sebastian had to wonder if that was at all a good thing. Jim’s eyes were a black abyss tonight, not giving the usual deceptively-innocent and reminiscent-of-small-woodland-creatures’ look that he so often held.
“So, what’re we doing with the stiff? Or… will-be stiff?”
It was sure to get a roll of the eyes and ridicule, but it was always better to ask, when Jim was concerned. The reactions to incorrect assumptions were always worse. Always.
‘We’. Cute. The corner of Jim’s lip gave a small twitch (in lieu of the eye roll and verbal chastisement Sebastian was expecting) before he began to speak. “Japanese business man! On a relaxing trip to Seoul with his mistress…!” His lips tensed on the word ‘trip’, as if it personally offended him and his hand shout out as if he was announcing a contestant on a game show. “There’s…”
Absolutely nothing unique about this. All theatrics dropped from his voice as he continued. “…a warning to be sent.” The ‘black abyss’ of his eyes changed, if slightly. Not to faked innocence, but an almost pathetic mischievous spark flared in them for a moment.
Jim slid from the arm of the chair to stand, turn his body towards the man in a signal for Sebastian to approach.