#intersaect

              Thick cigarette smoke mingles with perfumes and colognes and he can hear the distinct sound of glasses clinking together underneath the music. Even in its muted frivolity, it was like stepping onto holy ground. Thieves and liars became friends and broke bread, while outside these walls they might try to kill each other. Underneath the expensive cuff links and cocktail dresses were all hands that had fired a gun or broken necks -- all in the name of good  ( honest )  work.  ( How much of this would he share with her one day? If anything at all. )  And there were few new faces at the bar or tables as he silently walked past, giving small nods to only select few he might consider acquaintances. He was focused only on his work tonight  ( although maybe one drink can’t hurt )  .

              No official business was ever to be conducted in these hallowed halls  ( he knew the heavy consequence for those actions )  and he wouldn’t dream of firing a gun and reaping his punishment. Information, however, was harmless. Perfectly legal, as far as The Continental and its manager are concerned, and that is what he’s seeking out tonight. Just information so that he can take his business where it needs to be. His informant, however, is someone he’s never actually met, but he has a reputation that precedes him. So he’s able to pick him out from others. It helps that he’s so distinct in his work, from what John has heard. He was different ; a hitman who has never traditionally carried out a contract. No spilled blood on his part, at least. Which seemed strange to him  ( consider John Wick old-fashioned )  , but he chooses not to judge.

              He approaches the table built for two, studying only for a second the man that sits there. Certainly unlike many of the others that they are in company with, he thinks. There’s a specific gleam missing from his eyes and there are no scars or bruises on his knuckles. John doubts he’s ever held a weapon before. But if he’s as good as he was told, it doesn’t really matter, does it?  ( Everyone did their business in their own way. )  His hand reaches out to simply touch the back of the empty chair as his brows soften and raise, barely, and his voice, while low and somewhat rough, keeps a polite tone :

                    “ -- I hope I’m not interrupting. ”

        ❛    In  here .    ❜        Her  voice  is  soft ,  shaky  --  not  quite  like  herself .    Eden  is  curled  up  on  the  floor  when  she  hears  the  door  creak  open .    Her  arms  are  wrapped  around  her  knees  as  she  lays  there ,  teary - eyed  and  trembling .    Usually ,  she  had  tried  keeping  episodes  like  this  to  herself ,  but  ever  since  the  day  Chuck  first  found  out  what  had  happened  to  her  during  her  time  undercover ,  he  had  been  nothing  but  supportive .    He  had  become  a  backbone  for  her  --  her  rock .    Once  she  hears  soft  footsteps  pad  towards  her ,  watery  hues  glance  up .    She’s  crawling  into  his  lap  as  soon  as  he  lowers  himself  onto  the  floor  next  to  her ,  fingers  tightly  clutching  to  the  fabric  of  his  shirt . 

    𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓   𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍   /   𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈  .

       ❝   Chuck,   ❞   she   murmurs,   seeming   to   be   at   a   loss   for   words.   She's   got   to   explain   why   she's   so   distant.   She   went   from   bringing   him   cupcakes   everyday,   to   just   dropping   them   off   with   Morgan   &   heading   out.   ❝   ---   Look,   I   like   you.   Like   honestly   like   you.   But   I   know   you're   in   love   with   Sarah,   &   I   don't   expect   anything   I   just...   I   think   I   might   need   time.   Being   around   you...   it   hurts.   ❞