Another Plane

The Roof

***

A brisk wind lashed at the pair huddled on the rooftop. The girl-Janice, his mind supplied-tapped her toes distractedly on the shingles. Ian noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing any shoes, nor any sleeves to shield her from the elements, yet she gave no indication that she was cold. He supposed that would be thanks to the alcohol in her system. Meanwhile, his fingers were turning red as the blood rushed through to his extremities in a vain effort to warm them. He buried his face between his knees and wished he could be anywhere else.

"You know, when someone introduces themselves, it's rude not to give your name back," Janice quipped teasingly; he got the impression that she was the sort that was used to always getting her way. As though in defiance of this, he remained tight-lipped. While he may not want her to fall off the building and hurt herself, that didn't mean he had to be entertaining while he kept her from doing so. In fact, he thought, suddenly hopeful, maybe if I bore her, she'll want to go back inside! And with this uplifting notion to warm him, he remained steadfastly mute as he hunched against the breeze.

She poked him a couple of times, to no response. Then she amused herself with flipping the limp end of his hat back and forth. His only reaction was to huddle more tightly. She tried to play a guessing game, thinking that if she got his name right he'd have to react somehow. When she didn't, and he didn't, she huffed a little impatiently. He thought surely this must mean her resolve was weakening, and surely she would just give up and climb back inside to find some more lively company. Instead, she decided to try and goad him into acknowledging her; it worked.

"Hmph. Well. I guess I can just call you Peter Pan, then?" With this, Ian felt his face flush at the reminder of what had transpired downstairs.

"Y-you saw that?" He muttered reluctantly. The girl let loose another unnaturally high giggle before replying.

"That girl was such a brat! I don't know why you let it get to you. You shouldn't worry about what other people think."

"I know. I mean, I don't. I didn't 'let it get to me,' I was just... taken by surprise."

"Sure, sure, if you say so. You definitely looked gotten to, though. Do you even know whose shoe that was?" She started making mock-retching noises and he gave her an incredulous look; had she been watching him that whole time? Her face was impassive, still adorned with that knowing smirk she seemed to like so much. "Anyway, I just meant that people like that feel like they have to point out everyone else's flaws in order to cover up their own. They're rotten inside, so they spray that stink all over everyone else." Her eyes bore into his, smoldering, and Ian tore his gaze away, looking out to the dilapidated houses across the street. He chewed on her words for a bit, surprised that this drunk girl could come off as so perceptive.

"I know her type," he finally replied. "I've dealt with them enough. And I don't need your sympathy." He added that last bit while thinking of her clumsy advances in the dusty room below, the idea dawning on him that perhaps she had taken pity on him and decided on seduction as a misguided attempt to boost his confidence. Which was ridiculous; he didn't need confidence, thank you, he had always done just fine without. A sudden pressure on his shoulder made him start, and Ian turned his head to see that she was leaning against him now.

"I wasn't trying to be sympathetic. Just accurate. Unlike your costume, by the way." At this his brow furrowed slightly and he pushed down the jolt he had felt in his chest at her unexpected contact.

"And what would you know about that? I'm not supposed to be Peter Pan, you know.

"I know."