Cold, dry lips closed around the end and lungs were filled with warm tobacco. Then there was a quick, elegant movement with his hand-a wave or twirl or flaunt of some kind-and he removed the cigarette. Exhaling and shivering as the wisps of toxins flowed from his mouth, clouding his vision temporarily… the Thin Man was, what? Thinking? Eyes narrow and unblinking, he took another drag, longer this time.
The quiet of the city so early in the morning had a tendency to make a person contemplative. But for him, it was new. Though there were sounds-scuffles, meows, tires rolling over the gravel, a distant honk every now and then—it was so odd and quiet that it made him feel exposed yet shut in at the same time.
A cool wind blew. He let his eyes go to slits and turned his jaw up, making his features even more hawk-like. Though his hair was slicked back, the longish piece by his ear seemed to move ever so slightly in the breeze. Watercolor eyes became focused and looked forward, though still in slits, as if a thought had occurred to him. Reaching down with his free hand, he slipped long, yearning fingers into his pinstriped pocket. An excited breath left him and he curled the fingers and brought his hand to his face.
Seeping and floating from his fingers were locks of russet-colored hair. His eyes slid completely closed as he turned his neck to accommodate the movement of the hair in the breeze. His eyelashes, though not long, made little shadows under the eyes. The hair brushed against his lips and he shivered again, this time not from the cold of the night. He took in the scent before the hand moved upward, heel of his palm pressing into cheekbone and fingers flexing from the sensation—which left him suddenly.
Eyes snapping open, the Thin Man whipped around on his heels just in time to see the wind carry his trophy over the edge of the building, hand outstretched, fingers curled like talons. He let out a huff which ended in sounding like a growl, surprised, frustrated, excited. He forced himself to stand straight, bringing his arm back down to his side and to shut his eyes.
That didn't help. He just saw her face. Her smile, red lips, and—her hair.
The Thin Man knelt, picking up the cigarette he'd dropped in the fuss, and took one last, long, moaning drag.