
Another day, another couple dollars...
Tybalt shut the door to his locker and turned the lock, jacket slung over his shoulder and his usual scowl planted firmly on his face. He was tired and cranky, having worked through a huge pile of papers just to have another plopped down in front of him. No field work today. Nothing exciting. Just another day in his insurmountably long life.
He hadn't spoken very much to Angelo all week. In fact, he'd gone back to the usual; only talk about work, maybe how he felt after a particularly eventful day. No mention of the date, no mention of the kiss, or the bullet hole in the window that he'd barely glanced towards the end. He wasn't expecting it to go very far, really; he was his work partner, and there was some clause about keeping it professional. Something like that. He hadn't read the rule book in years.
Still, he found himself standing there for a few seconds longer than usual, just letting the thought roll around in his head. Angelo was a murderer, but for some reason he didn't feel like one. His soul clung to his collarbones, sticky and grey like tar and yet he was just... Not. He'd only seen a couple like Angelo in the past, but few he'd had to work so closely with.
No sense in worrying about it now, but he'd do so anyways.
Tybalt turned on his heels, back shouldered and ready to go home. Footsteps coming down the hallway towards the lockers made him pause, though.