5 5–mugs full

Two hours had gone with him pondering over the opportunity he feared was maybe a bit of a leap for him, such a story, he felt, someone of a better caliber was certainly meant for. But at this point he was sure he couldn't portray such feelings, this was now actually their story.

The sun had set upon the city leaving it almost cocooned under the almost starless sky and the feverishly twinkling lights shone out of the large glass window he was far from him as he stood leaning against his desk, the keycard sort of feeling a bit heavier than usual.

His tie had been loosened just thirty minutes ago already, with a button or two of his slightly baggy shirt undone. The thought of himself in form-fitting clothing, besides his jeans, of course, was quite uncomfortable. He chose to even shake it from his thoughts as he brought a mug to his lips, maybe another sip was to drown out the tiny doubtful voice within his head.

Were they ready for something like this?

He licked his lips, his wide shoulders making the shirt seem as if it was hovering over his slim upper body, which had just enough muscle to not make him seem so lanky, at least according to him, but the shirt remained tugged neatly into his dark jeans, waist narrow as he planted his bum on the desk. The empty mug going to sit just beside him, only just, as he folded his long arms.

“What? Think this might be a bloody leap too far?” Casper asked, his eyebrow stiffly arched.

“Yeah,” Fern responded, maybe quicker than his friend had anticipated. “We're just journalists, so we go where the story takes us, true?”

“You're usually more than happy to,” Casper pointed out, letting out a low laugh which rumbled right out of him and carried with quite ease, almost rippling against the back of his throat fully.

“Yeah, but this could ruin us if we don't deliver.” He brought his large coffee mug to his lips. “And that's not the same as taking photos of some farm wedding, is it?”

“True, but the police could be trying to downplay this. Maybe it's racial related...and you know how it's been lately,” Casper said, bringing out his tongue to moisten his long and slightly fat lips.

“Yeah, I see why they'd prolong this and seriously, I think they're trying to hide this,” Fern said, nodding to himself.

“It's not like they'll care, people, I mean.”

“True. I mean it's just some...foreign student, true?” Fern said, voice slightly rougher as he sort of bit into each word, with one getting more of his attention than the rest.

It left room for a bit of silence before he spoke again, bringing his tongue out to moisten his lips. “You think this source will be forthcoming with us?”

“You think we won't ‘cause he couldn't?” Fern asked.

“It's difficult to get someone to trust you these days, I –”

“Look, it's obvious this is ours...and Simon does seem truly eager to part with this story...” Fern said.

The office was close to eerily vacant at this point, with maybe the distant sounds of the city and the hum coming from the aircon, with the computer screen staring blankly behind him.

On the wall, the clock said it was already past seven.

The usually comfortable mess of his soft hair which had been combed backward with just his bare and long elegant fingers, he led them right to his hair again as he slightly chewed on his bottom lip.

“The pictures you took were sharp...and very scary, sort of sad there too,” Casper said, wrinkling his nose a bit.

“I always aim for sad, yeah?” Fern said, offering his friend a slight smile.

“We have a long day tomorrow, we should go,” Casper said, reaching for his desk as he placed the strippy mug on top of his desk, pushing one of his stacks of papers aside.

“I'll stay so long, just to go through my–”

“You just want to sit here and bloody stare at those pictures, isn't it?” His friend and colleague arched his eyebrow tightly.

“I'm sort of–”

“Forget it,” Casper said, clasping his hand against his shoulder as he squeezed it quite firmly. “Cheers.”

“Alright,” he offered, then dumped himself into his chair which gave in easily as it liked to, sort of wheeling itself slightly backward without moving much from his cubicle. He pushed it forth as he leaned forward, slightly, squinting his eyes at the screen which was currently brightly lit, right against his face.

He had a new email as he currently had his deeply darkened eyes set on the screen, going over words that were currently not of interest as his head went back to the pictures he had seen not that long ago. The light from the computer captured his face as it slightly glistened against his cheeks, bringing out the sharply curved shape of his almost prominent high cheekbones, just as it carefully did his cupid's bow-shaped lips.

He was unable to get the image out of his mind.

He slightly hunched his back, angling himself forward, eyebrows knitted together and in their naturally neat shape, lips sort of hanging open as he curled them, eyes trained against the screen while he bit into his bottom lip absentmindedly.

He could picture the dead body lying against the bed of still crystal blue water, the water glistening against the tall ceiling. He could still see the body just lying there, left alone in the pool, face planted into the water as if he was ashamed of the found there, as if he, somehow, was embarrassed about being dead.

By the time Fern was aware of the metallic taste sharp in his mouth, which sort of tasted strongly of coffee as well, he was already dragging himself to the staff kitchen needing more caffeine to pump himself full of. It was already rushing right throughout his body but he still felt he needed more to wash whatever made him feel suddenly vulnerable.

Fern could still feel the slight sting of the little cut on his lip, bore there by his perfectly white teeth, as he met the painfully bright kitchen which wasn't necessarily huge though bigger than his cubicle and fairly spacious, maybe it was even more comfortable than his cubicle. There was a microwave, bland white cupboards, and simple white cupboards, and a white fridge for the staff to shove their food. Fern on the other hand didn't as he preferred sandwiches, if not far too much coffee. Theo certainly complained about it but it made life easier for him and he went with his mood when it came to food. The kitchen smelled decent enough to him as he stood there pouring himself a mug of hot filter coffee.

The kitchen, however, liked to smell so sharply of lemons and all those harsh cleaning chemicals that usually made his nose and throat so dry, even ruining his appetite.

He clasped the mug tightly as the steam from the hot liquid surged to trim half of his face, with a slight pour of his big lips he brought the rim of the steaming mug close-carefully taking a sip. Maybe, as he drank the preferably bitter coffee, he would have rather had the acidic lemony smell disrupt his day, invading his comfort than some nameless lad lying in a pool of water rather sadly, making him feel so cold deep within himself.

He brought the ceramic mug to his lips one last time, going for his phone which was in his pocket.

Fern did usually go home earlier but for some reason, he was there and not at all with Theo, something he found to be uneasy. Fern then sighed and lifted his head and hurled his eyes to the clock on the wall, his shoulders slightly slumping.

It was already past eight.

The last call he had rung Theo had been an hour or so ago, Fern let out a breath that reeked so strongly of coffee, at the thought and quickly plopped his mug on top of the whitewash countertop.

Fern then shut these thoughts out by thinking of his wife, letting his eyes fall to what he felt to be a rather ordinary pair of Converse sneakers, and feeling quite so immature then.

Fern absentmindedly bit his lip as he dialed her number, tapping his left foot and distracting himself from how alone he felt.

Fern still had those photos in his drive and that weighed so heavily on him.

He sighed again, almost breathing into the phone as his wife finally picked up her phone. “Theo?”