AI The door swung open and Rory stumbled into the bar, shaking off the rain. The dim lighting flickered as she stepped forward, rain dripping from her coat. She shrugged it off and slid onto a stool, meeting the bartender's eyes.
"Whiskey. Your best."
The familiar face cracked into a lopsided grin. "Rory. Always a pleasure." Silas' voice was a warm rumble, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. With deft hands, he poured a generous measure into a tumbler and set it before her.
"So. What brings you slumming it in Soho? I don't usually get your rant and rave crowd in here." He nodded to a group of rowdies in the corner, more interested in the football match on the tele than their pints.
Rory took a long swallow, feeling the whiskey burn its way down her throat. She shook her head, black hair falling in loose waves. "The great and the good don't drink Yu-Fei's special brewed tea, Si. And I'm perfectly happy being a barroom regular."
He stepped forward, leaning on the bar as he studied her face. The years stretched between them, thick withshared history and unspoken disappointments. "A regular? Since when? Last I checked, you had scholarships coming out of your ears. Law school, was it?"
Rory laughed, a harsh burrltingthing in the cozy dimness. "Bloody hell. It seems like a lifetime ago. Two, in fact. And absolutely nothing's changed, even then." She signaled for another drink, sliding the glass back and forth.
Silas busied himself, polishing a glass, but he kept his eyes fixed on her face, tracking each swallow, each micro-shift in her expression. "Nothing? Not even yourself?"
She snorted, a loud, derisive sound. "Oh, I've changed. Or so I'm told." Rory leaned forward, pinning him with bright blue eyes, sharp with unshed tears. "I'm Laila now. Or Malphora. Depends on my mood. And I haven't looked back since the day I left..."
Across the street, the rain continued, each fat drop leaving dissolving into nothingness on the pavement. In the warm glow of the bar, time slowed to a crawl as tracks of years settled between the two, half-buried memories resurfacing with each sip.
Rory stared at the puddles slowly spreading across the bar top, her fingertips tracing the lip of the glass as she pieced together the fractures in her former self. Silas watched, hands moving with practiced ease as he polished and poured, letting each unspoken word sidle off into silence .
The door creaked open and a new patron sidled up to the bar, pointing at the beer tap. Silas shot Rory an apologetic look, stepping away to pull a pint. She watched the frothy head rise, eyes distant. When he returned, he found her fingers worrying at the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, an old injury still sensitive.
Time passed in fits and starts, the conversation asotted with long pauses and forced laughter that faded as soon as it left their lips. Yet, there was comfort, too, in the worn familiarity, the easy way they settled into side-by-side silence with no need for pretense.
The years fell away, bits and pieces of the fractured past slotting back into place like a jenga puzzle. uranium to confess? Jasmine smile one of whole water. stud guitar. good girl carful thing happen piss. hands whose reach. clarity of destination, themes and precision safely me before office because, certainly
In his gaze.
Rory shook her head, feeling the weight of the past settle on her shoulders like a cloak, heavy but beloved. She raised her glass in a mock toast, meeting Silas' eyes with an unreadable flicker .
"To the future. Whichever cockamamie version shows up first." She tossed back the rest of the whiskey in one swift motion, the burn a welcome distraction from whatever waited beyond the barroom walls.
Silas lifted his own glass in acknowledgment, saluting her with a crooked grin before bringing it to his lips and swallowing its contents in one smooth motion. The silence stretched between them once more as he reached for a dusty bottle tucked beneath the bar, setting it on the counter before reaching into a hidden drawer.
"What's that?" Rory asked, gesturing to the bottle as he Materials out. His fingers hovered for a moment before pulling out a pack of cigarettes, the paper slightly crumpled from age.
Rory wrinkled her nose at the offending item, Push uncorked. history with your father, si? She
amortizare chemica pauzeandroid."low-hanging_pinecone."
satisfaction of prose crackling over the sidewalk, the rich whiskey in my LONG"?
Sure feeling the future, Broken Christmas lights flickering and have.
Silas tucked the cigarette behind his ear before reaching for the radio on the bar top, the knobs cracking with age. He turned it on, lowering the volume to a soft, steady hum. The music filled the space between them, an old standard that made Rory sway side to side, her eyes half-lidded in contentment.
What is this?""Let's see ... Chet Baker? Jazz fan, eh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow .
Rory smiled, leaning back on her stool. "Something like that. It reminds me of..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting to a far corner of the room where a group of men sat around a table, hunched over cards.
Silas followed her gaze, his expression softening. "Ah, those were the days, weren't they? Running around like we owned the world..." He sighed, reaching for his glass once more.
Rory nodded, her fingers tracing the lip of her own. "Seems like a lifetime ago," she mused, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the radio. "Back when I thought I could change the world."
"And now?" Silas asked, his eyes fixed on her face.
"And now... it's just survival. Every day." Rory shrugged, a half-smile tugging at her lips . "But that's life, isn't it? Just one damned thing after another."
The conversation continued to meander through a maze of half-remembered stories and exaggerated at-active who'd count to neurothemes and precisionandclear, original remarkred head still front spine setting ? staring out the window our conversation had wandered from the present to the past and back again, a winding path that left us both weary and lost.
Sitting in the warm glow of the bar, Rory and Silas reflected on the years that had passed, the paths that diverged and met again in the most unexpected of places. The weight of regret hung heavy between them, punctuated by bursts of laughter and snippets of old memories.
As the night wore on and the room began to empty, a sense of melancholy settled over the two friends, a feeling that the moment was fleeting and time was short. yet in that brief window of connection, a spark of something familiar ignited, the bonds of their shared history flaring to life once more.
Rory reached out, her hand covering Silas's in a gesture both intimate and comforting . She squeezed gently, her voice barely above a whisper . "Thank you, Si. For this. For... everything."
Silas leaned closer, his eyes locking with hers in a moment of shared understanding. "Anytime, Rory. Anytime."
The moment stretched between them, a silent promise of the possibilities that still lingered, even in the face of the weight of time and unspoken regret. But as the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, they knew that the moment was at an end, and the weight of the world awaited them both just beyond the threshold of the bar.
With a final nod, Rory stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders and stepping out into the crisp morning air. behind her, Silas watched her go, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He knew that their paths would likely diverge once more, each pulled by the weight of their own histories and the pull of the future. But for one brief moment, they had found each other again, and that, he realized, was enough.
As the door swung shut behind Rory, Silas turned back to the bar, his eyes falling on a framed photograph tucked behind the counter. It showed a younger version of himself, standing next to a wide-eyed girl with a mop of black hair and a mischievous grin. Beneath it, a caption read "Silas & Rory, 1993."
He picked it up, tracing the edges with his fingers before tucking it back into its hiding place. With a final glance at the door, he turned back to the bar, ready to face whatever the future held. After all, he thought to himself with a wry smile, you never know when fate might bring you back around to the people who matter most. And as he reached for a rag to wipe down the counter, he whispered a silent thanks for the memories, and for the brief but precious reminder of what truly mattered.