Is it bright where you are? Have the people changed?
Does it make you happy you're so strange?
He sits in a café, calm and content, browsing the newspaper that lies in front of him. The coffee that rests to his right has gone cold; the steam has long since stopped reaching for the ceiling. He still doesn't know why he bought the coffee – he supposes that it looks more authentic. A man sitting in a café without a coffee is a man who is up to no good, and for one, he cannot have people questioning his business here. It would be far more problematic and complicated if he did not have the coffee. You might say; the details are everything.
The newspaper is, at best, dull today. Despite being a mere prop, he has been reading the paper. He paid money for it. He may as well read it. The news is useless and boring, the celebrities are overexposed and desperate. Newspapers aren't quite what they used to be, he decides as he folds the paper carefully, leaving it flat in front of him.
He sits back in his chair, taking an absent-minded sip of the coffee. His face contorts and he hastily replaces the cup on its saucer. Not only is it cold, but the coffee is cheap and bitter. It hardly reflects the golden type that stands proudly above the door. He looks over at the short, plain woman behind the counter. Neither does she, but he supposes that it is a clear reflection on life.
A man walks into the shop, wearing a dark suit and an even darker expression upon his face. The man looks around for a moment, and quickly takes the seat opposite. He shuffles nervously in his chair before settling.
"Why so nervous, Sayid?" He says, motioning for the waiter to come over. He orders two coffees, sending the cold, untouched cup away with the waiter. The man, Sayid, glowers at him. His hair is brushed, professionally cut. His suit is expensive. The watch he is wearing looks designer, but to the discerning eye it is a fake. Sayid leans in as far as he can across the table.
"I expressed my concern at meeting in such a public place," he says, his voice low, "And yet you still ignore me, Ben."
Ben smiles, knowing that he has gotten to Sayid. Why make him comfortable when he does what he does? When he knows what he knows.
"Yes, well," he says, silently thanking the waiter as the coffees are placed on the table, "Nobody here cares about our business. They're all trapped in their affairs. Not one of them is bothered by the two business men drinking coffee."
"But we are not business men!" Sayid hisses, quickly looking around at the couple behind him.
"Well don't tell them that, Sayid, because then everybody will want a slice of the action."
Ben raises his eyebrows innocently as Sayid looks at him, and he pulls a polaroid from his jacket pocket, sliding it towards his acquaintance. Sayid looks at the image for a few seconds before pocketing it.
"Everything you need to know is on the back," Ben says casually, taking a sip of his coffee, "You can let me know when it's done."
"Thank you," Sayid says, although the courtesy is laced with poison. He gets up, and makes to leave.
"Aren't you going to finish your coffee?" Ben asks politely, even though he already knows the answer.
"No," Sayid says curtly, and leaves.
Ben smirks to himself, taking another sip of his coffee. He can't stand to finish it, so he gets up, slides a ten pound note onto the counter, and follows Sayid out of the café. He watches as he disappears in the swarm of people, and he knows that what he needs to be done will be. He trusts Sayid - purely on a business level of course - even if his 'colleague' does not return the feeling.
He looks up at the sky. He has become accustomed to the English weather over the month that he has been here. The sun is out, he notices, if only for a moment. A thick, ominous cloud covers it completely. The world seems darker. Ben sighs.
A girl walks past him. For a second she looks so familiar that Ben finds himself reaching out slightly to grab her arm. She notices the gesture and glances at Ben in disgust as she keeps walking. Even her face is the same. The hair, the eyes. The disappointed curl in her lip. He sighs again, walking in the opposite direction to the girl, his mind suddenly muddled with conscience. The things he has done. The things he is doing. The things he inevitably will do.
Would she understand, were she still alive?
And here he is again, in an airport, going to another country. She would refer to it as 'running away'. He will send for Sayid when he needs him again. It's one of the perks of a ruined man – with nothing to lose, they will follow you to the ends of the Earth. A good job too, really, because one day Ben just might need him to.
Once again he finds himself people-watching in the departures lounge. It isn't something he used to do. He used to have direction. He would know what he was doing every single second of the day. He was never without things to do. And now, it's not like he's without things to do. It's just that now…everything takes longer to happen. Nothing is as fast as it used to be. There are gaps in the action, there is silence in the noise.
He leaves to get on the plane. To go to another country. To run away. Again.