"Why is the window open?"
He looked over his shoulder at the other man's entrance, sparing him the barest of glances before turning back to the window. Outside a storm rocked through the sky. The rain had yet to start; the sky was covered in violent black and purple clouds, and lightning cast ghastly shadows everywhere. He found the bleak evening almost comforting, as it matched his mood perfectly.
"I wanted it open," he answered at last, listening to the chair creak as his companion sat down.
"It's cold. Shut it."
He considered ignoring the command before finally freeing his fingers from their death grip on the windowsill. He hadn't noticed the chill, not after standing here for so long. His fingers were numb and clumsy on the window as he tugged it back into place. It clicked, locking in its spot, and he stared through the glass for a few moments longer. He lifted one hand to his face, tracing his fingers down his cheek. They were so cold. He had been cold for months now.
"Why?" he asked.
The order wasn't repeated and his question wasn't answered. The other man never repeated himself and never explained anything he didn't want to. He sighed, turning away from the window, and crossed the room to stand before the seated man. He was put under serious scrutiny for several moments before the older man sighed and shifted, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He found his lighter from the other pocket and handed it over, perching a cigarette between his lips and looking expectantly up at the one towering over him.
"It's a bad habit," he said, but he didn't really care.
"Give me a light," the other man said instead.
A flame clicked to life, the only light in this dark room in between flashes of wicked lightning. He leaned forward, touching the end of it to the cigarette. He clicked the lid shut and held it back out in offering. His companion took it back and paused before reaching out with his free hand, giving cold fingers a light squeeze. There was just enough light from outside and the burning cigarette for him to feel the older man's heavy gaze on him. He ignored it the best he could. At length the other made a disgusted sound in his throat. Dropping his lighter off to the side, he reached out, tugging the younger man into his lap.
"You're shaking, dumbass."
"No I'm not."
But he was. He just hadn't noticed. The other man scowled at him, shifting until he had wriggled out of his jacket, and draped it around smaller shoulders. Cold fingers unconsciously drew it closer, soaking up the heat that still clung to it. His companion reached up, plucking his cigarette away to exhale a cloud of smoke into the dark room, and fixed him with an intent look.
"Make yourself comfortable," the foreigner told him. "You're going to be here a while. He says we can keep you."
"For what purpose?" the younger man wanted to know. He didn't really care. He supposed he should be angry. He supposed he should be terrified. But he felt nothing, just a comfortable, cool numbness.
"Who knows?" the other man said, glancing to one side as someone else stepped through the doorway. He reached out towards the new arrival, who approached obediently. Fingers tangled together; the seated man pulled the other down for a kiss. The youngest of the three watched in silence from his spot on the man's lap. The two released each other, fingers and lips pulling away simultaneously, and the third moved to study the view from the window. The seated man reached up, trailing the back of his fingers down his companion's face thoughtfully. His fingers were warm, almost hot. It was strange to feel, when he'd been cold for so long. "Think of a reason and assign it to this."
"Are you going to kill me?" he asked.
"Do you want to die?" He sounded amused.
Silence for a moment, then, "Perhaps."
"All in good time." He draped his hand back on his chair and perched his cigarette back between his lips. Silence fell between them, and outside the rain started to fall.
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