Chapter Text
Duncan woke up in an unfamiliar room, to the sound of rain hitting the windows. He kept still for a moment, taking stock of his surroundings. From his position, he could see his bag and a pile of clothes on top of it, so that was good. A quick check: he was dressed in t-shirt and boxers and it looked like he had had the bed to himself. That was good, too, he didn’t have the stomach to face another drunken one night stand, there had been too many of those lately. But it was kind of weird … unless he had been too drunk last night even to fuck. Judging from the quality of his headache and the lack of memory after a certain point, that was possible.
Through the closed door, he could hear the clatter of dishes and smell coffee. He swung his legs off the bed and clutched his head with a groan to stop his brain from sloshing around. After a while, he felt up to getting dressed, slowly. The room was small, but the view was nice and there even was a balcony, with a jungle of plants. What space the bed didn’t take up was filled with bookshelves, with actual paper books. He had never seen so many in one place.
Fully dressed, he felt a bit better, grabbed his stuff and took a deep breath before quietly opening the door, getting ready for some awkward talk and a probably ungraceful exit. Another step took him into the living room - more books here and pencil sketches pinned up all over the walls. A small sofa had been slept on, cushions and a couple of blankets still scattered around. Who the fuck took strangers home and let them sleep in their bed, alone?
The kitchen was across the living room and for a moment he thought about just sneaking out. But he knew perfectly well that he would feel like shit for doing that and so he went to see who had taken pity on him last night. An ork took up much of the room in the tiny kitchen and looked up when Duncan hesitated on the threshold. ‘Hey, you’re up! You probably don’t remember - my name’s Rhys and you crashed here.’ He was less heavily built than Duncan, with dark hair in a ponytail and colourful tattoos of animals and plants on light skin sneaking their way up his arms. ‘I didn’t want to let you ride that bike of yours in your state and you were at least halfway passed out by the time we got here.’ He smiled. ‘So, how about breakfast? I make a mean duck egg omelet and those are real eggs, mind you.’
Duncan opened his mouth to say no and heard himself say: ‘Okay, yeah, breakfast sounds good.’ His brain had been overruled by hunger and a wave of loneliness so intense it was painful. Outside of work, he had not talked to anyone for weeks, not really talked. And at work, he kept things strictly business. It was easier that way and mostly, he was pretty good at ignoring the need for human contact. Unless he got drunk.
Rhys gave him another smile and pushed some plates and cutlery his way. ‘You can set the table. Or go take a shower if you want to, bathroom’s down the hall on the left.’
‘Shower...yeah, I better do that.’ Duncan felt slightly overwhelmed and hoped that ten minutes under a hot shower would help.
It did, at least a little bit. There was nothing he could do about his clothes, smelling of smoke and sweat, but at least his headache had let up by the time he was done. When he came back into the living room, Rhys had already set the low table in front of the sofa and was busy putting the finishing touches on the omelet. ‘Take the sofa, there’s coffee in the thermos’, he yelled from the kitchen and came in a minute later carrying two plates. He found Duncan still standing, looking lost. “Sit. Eat. Talk later, if you want to. If not, say thanks and leave. Although I would prefer talking.” Rhys’s easy manner and the smell of food helped Duncan get a grip on himself, enough to sit down and devour the omelet. The silence between them didn’t have time to get awkward.
‘Thank you. I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass out of myself yesterday. I’m usually better at knowing my limits...’ Duncan fought the instinct to leave, sitting there actually felt good and he wanted to enjoy it a bit longer.
Rhys laughed and shook his head. He was sitting cross-legged in a battered armchair and had eaten just as ravenously as Duncan. ‘You were pretty quiet actually. Like, really determined to drown whatever’s bothering you. By the time I went over to you, you had already blown off a couple of guys – you can’t come in there with all those muscles and not attract attention. You weren’t exactly welcoming, but I go for the strong, sullen type, so sue me. Anyway, we got talking about guns and you kept working on that hangover of yours. When it was time to go, I kind of steered you in the direction of my car. I honestly think you didn’t notice and wouldn’t have cared if you did. You cussed out someone named Echo. Boyfriend? You don’t have to answer that.’
Duncan had flinched visibly at the name and shook his head. ‘No, it’s okay. Echo’s my brother. And he fucked me over big time. Don’t want to see him ever again.’ That was a lie and Duncan knew it.
If Rhys knew, he didn’t show it. ‘Family can be the worst. Full disclosure: you told me that you don’t have a SIN and that it’s Echo’s fault. I didn’t ask and you passed out right around there anyway. If I had to guess, I’d tag you as a shadowrunner and you can bet your ass that I’m curious, but it won’t kill me if we don’t talk about it. I am pretty interested in getting to know you, though.’ He spread his hands in a gesture saying that it was up to Duncan now.
There was a long moment of silence while Duncan tried to decide what to do. He wanted to stay so much he could taste it, but at the same time he almost panicked at the thought. He had never been sociable at the best of times, but the last year had really done a number on his social life, such as there had been.
Rhys leaned forward and started to gather up the plates. ‘Tell you what, I clean up the kitchen and when you’re still here when I’m done we’ll go for a walk or something. But if you’d rather leave, then leave. Maybe take my commlink number, if you feel like it.” He scribbled it down on a piece of paper, with an actual fountain pen, and then walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. When he came back ten minutes later, Duncan was gone. But so was the scrap of paper.