Lunch Time [Open]

For the first time in probably forever, the elusive Dr. Mori was seated at the break room table. With a real lunch seated before him, fork in hand, he simply chewed his meal in silence, looking through a book to his left.

He was oddly calm today.

The page turned, breaking the utter silence as the male absorbed the words written within. Something about the human mind and past studies. He had read it several times before, but he had learned that the more he read, the more he absorbed. Different things that he had missed from before. Grabbing another forkful of salad, he placed it into his mouth, chewing with his mouth closed.

How strangely normal.

He was even out of that lab coat that was seemingly sewn onto his body. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, per the usual, and a pair of slacks. His hair was wavy and somewhat in a disarray, but presentable. It must have been a miracle, or a damn good drug that kept him like this today.

For the first time since their initial meeting, the straight forward Dr. Gives Light visibly expressed the emotion of regret upon his entrance into the break room. For the first time in his adult life, eye contact was seemingly avoided. And it wasn't because he was ashamed or that he no longer felt comfortable in Mori's presence, but rather even he was beginning to wonder if these encounters didn't appear somewhat stalker-ish.

He hadn't planned on the other doctors presence so he at least had that peace of mind. Besides, it was noon and it was to be expected that others would be in the break room eating.

Raphael sat at the opposite end of the table without so much as a greeting. Mori is preoccupied. That was the excuse he gave himself in response to self loathing for his rudeness. An unkindness which would then be pushed aside by the prospect of calming the hunger beast that lurked in his belly. Lunch today consisted stereotypically of cold frybread and a bowl of wojapi (berry pudding). A meager meal for a man of his size. It was still substantially more than he'd ever witnessed Mori put into his body so it came as quite a shock to see the Asian doctor taking initiative and feeding himself properly. Raphael would be the first to admit that it made him happy. He had genuinely been concerned about that.

The revelation of dissipating anxiety exposed a rare desire for a smoke. A bit of a celebration of sorts. He found himself wondering which cardboard box that littered the floor of his office held a six month old pack of Marlboro's and if a lighter had even come with during his move. He figured he'd have the rest of the afternoon to contemplate it and the rest of the evening to actually solve it. The lighting and inhalation of a cigarette was an uncommon practice and one that was done in solitude -- therefore during late hours at night or wee hours of the morning when time alone was a given.

Raphael used his fingers to pull more manageable pieces from the oversized puff of frybread, eating it plain and traditional, affording but brief glances at Mori.

To Mori, he was beginning to feel somewhat stalked. However, not today. He was somewhat low key at the moment. Though, he would have felt rather strange to realize that Raphael was happy about his meal choice.

When the other male sat at the other end of the table, Haru lifted his head to offer the most brief of peripheral glances, before sighing and returning to his book. Of course it was him. Why wouldn't it be? Still, he sat in silence. He only offered a brief break of that silence to spare a rather horrid sounding cough.

Well fuck. He really didn't want any attention, so he cursed himself internally, reaching out to take a drink of whatever was in that mug before him. He remained in silence, turning a page and praying to whatever deity that he believed in for Raphael not to ask if he was sick.

Maybe it could be passed off as a smoker's cough? Likely. Long fingers outreached for another bite of food while his eyes never drifted from his reading. Save for the moments that he needed to write something down.