Rating: K
Disclaimer: This thing is called a fanfiction for a reason, y'know.
(Since the person was an anonymous reviewer, I would just like to put a note here to say 'thank you' for the correction with my grammar. I hadn't noticed the mistakes because I had been so tired last night. It is very much appreciated. :))
There was a Place on 7th
They went there every day.
It could have been called tradition, but it was much more casual than that.
It was an unspoken agreement that brought them there - that brought them to the corner booth; the one that everyone knew to be theirs.
They would sit down to breakfast as if they had all the time in the world. No-one knew where they went afterwards, or where they came from; the place from last night that made them smell like smoke and sweat and sin.
No-one knew what caused the haunted look in their eyes.
But it was obvious to all that this was the place where they let all else be forgotten. Drawn, tired faces became animated with wide smiles, and occasionally a loud laugh would sound from their booth.
It was a place where they could feel alive again.
But one day, everything changed. No-one came to sit at the booth. No inconsequential conversation or bright smiles to lighten up the room. No red-head to flirt with the waitresses, or blond to kick him under the table afterward.
There was nothing but a heavy silence.
Eventually, after weeks of absence, the two men faded from memory and the booth in the corner lost its title.
There was a place on 7th; a place they had gone to every day.
