The mid-day air is thick with humid vapor, the sky gray with rain. Fat drops of precipitation hit the vinyl awning overhead with irregular rhythm, the resulting cacophony drowning out the sounds of the city beyond the small storefront. The thin, lanky blond brushes back wilted curls and strikes a match. He watches transfixed as the fire sputters in the heavy air before settling into a small, stable flame. The cigarette lights and he takes a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He savors it a moment too long, holding it in his lungs till the street before him wavers in his vision, then exhales.
There are few people out today, most wise enough to avoid the rain and the humidity. Business will be slow, which suits him just fine. The last few days he has felt a bone-deep tiredness, bordering on lethargy, settling in his limbs. He has struggled to maintain the smiles, the witty one-liners, and flirtatious innuendos that everyone has come to expect from him. The mask of indifference threatens to slip away and reveal deeper musings in normally mirthful green eyes. This is why he's outside, out of the rain but still keenly aware of its presence, while the others enjoy a quiet lunch break inside.
They are a team and somewhere along the way they've all allowed themselves to be typecast, he thinks as he takes another drag. Each man plays a role that is vital to the survival of the team. Omi clings to the appearance of innocence as if he can remain untouched by the murderous deeds they commit in the cover of darkness. Ken is the good ole boy, quick to anger and equally quick to forgive; unabashedly loyal to them all. Aya plays the role of loner, owner of an impenetrable shield of icy coolness that separates him from both the bloody and mundane. And as for himself, he is the playboy; nonchalant and cavalier, flashing a smile in the face of danger. He artfully balances women, whiskey, and debauchery with the secret life of a killer.
Every one of them plays a part and he suspects; no, he knows that they each despise the roles they are forced to play. He knows because he has seen the strain in the others after a particularly brutal assignment. He has seen cold, calculating blue eyes stare him down from within a round, youthful face. He has felt the too thin walls of their apartment shake with silent fury and seen with his own eyes the evidence of that violence on tan, muscular hands the next morning. And he has heard the hollow prayers of a fallen son, the sobs of a forgotten brother when no one was supposed to be awake and listening. He has looked in the mirror and seen weary green eyes framed by lines of strain stare emptily back at him and wondered who this stranger could be.
He is interrupted from his musings by small, almost silent footsteps. Omi, he knows without looking. The teen will open the door and quietly implore him to come back in, because he'll surely catch a cold if he stays out much longer. He'll acquiesce with a smirk and a teasing comment. Aya will scowl and comment on the damp stench of cigarette smoke when he enters. Ken will roll his eyes and suggest he's so moody because of certain late-night activities. And he will go along with it all, playing his part for their sakes as well as his own. He wonders as he tosses the butt of his cigarette, what would it be like to say no, to stay out in the rain till he can't see or hear or feel their pain anymore. He wonders if he stays out in the rain long enough if he could finally drown away his own demons as well as theirs.