#steve 01

The unmistakable sound of one of the warehouse doors pushed opened broke the quiet. Tej cautiously climbed down from the small loft space to the stairs on the second floor, and then peered down at the ground level. The desire to avoid another round of debate on squatter's rights battled a short-lived flutter in his stomach (from the conceited notion the chef couldn't stay away from him).

He knew the person who'd come into the warehouse, but it wasn't his ex. "Fuck me, you've got to be joking." Tej paused on the stairs for a low laugh. Part relief with a splash of bitterness too. Bitter over the unfair nature of yet another person dragged into this mess. He called out: "Steve??"

Tej continued to the first floor and wove through shelves to find them, halting feet away. Eyes studied Steve from head to toe. "It really is you." At least Tej hoped, and further conversation could confirm. "Someone told me Manhattan dropped into the ocean." Tej certainly set up Calamity for the flippant gloom-and-doom remark, but in a way he wished it was true.

"Didn't know they shipped the whole lower east side over here. Or Fire Island, hm?" The Genuine Steve would definitely give Tej a honey and smart quip back, he felt sure. "You look alright though." Alright... blasphemy. And like with Calamity, it was only meant to get a teasing reaction back, as his tight grin implied.

Steve was always up for fun. A drink, a laugh, a night out. Dropping Steve's name in artistic circles never hurt anything either. Tej wouldn't soon admit seeing Steve there was a small comfort. "Not to be sentimental, but it's nice to see a familiar face in this... wherever the hell we are. Haven't quite figured it out. Unless you know more than I do now."