It's Giving Mid

I'm On My Way . 1

   "Timothy!" the senior agent calls to his subordinate from the end of the hallway. He jogs to catch up with the now stopped younger agent, all the way at the other end with his hand on the door.

   Timothy sighs under his breath when he hears the shout. Five days a week, ten hours a day never seems to be enough for his superior; especially on the days when all Timothy wants to do is go home. 

 "Timothy. When you come in on Monday have your credentials ready for your next case and the monthly check up. I don't want any excuses again, for such a good agent you suck at remembering your basic duties." Timothy does not need to turn around to see the barely hidden sneer on Homer's face. If looks could kill – or worse, get him fired, Homer would have had nineteen year old Timothy out the door his first week.

   Any other day and Timothy's fists would have clenched at his sides, his only safe gesture for his frustrations, but he could barely sigh in response on a day like today. His mind had been off work all week. All month if he were to be completely honest.

 "Of course, Agent Jang Sir. I won't forget again." Timothy hopes he would never see his face again; if he did, the least he could hope for was freedom to knock a few teeth out. 

   He pushes on the door and inhales the summer air; it smells suspiciously like freedom.

   "Timothy!" he hears the shout over the crowd as soon as he is through the bar's front door, "Finally, get over here you sloth!" Timothy rolls his eyes but weaves through the crowd toward the voice. It's always kind of funny, the thought lingering in the back of his mind; it's the peoplehe wants to hit - aggressively or otherwise - who shout his name the most.

   He finds them at the usual table, to the back but close enough to the bar for easy drink access,sat in a semi-circle which Timothy completes once he sits down. Brian pipes up first, somehowjust as loud as he was from across the room. "There you are you little shit! We've been here for hours and you couldn't even tell us you were gonna be three hours late!" Theodore scoffs beside him.

   "He never told us he would come. Remember, it's a once a month visit, babe." Timothy almost scoffs with him, he loves his friends but the pair were a headache on his worst days; he has had alot of worst days in the past four years.

   Brian spares Theodore a glance before continuing, no quieter than before.

 "Well it's good you're here, we were just about to play cards with Old Joe over there." He gestures to the passed out man at the table a few paces away, drooling on some tarot cards. "He owes me a fortune and fifty dollars from the last time he ran up my tab." Theodore laughs at that, body shaking with the gut drawn sound. 

 "After he got you drunk enough to let him." He lifts his arm from the back of Brian's chair to drag it over his face, "Anyone who can get you drunk has to get a check in my book." Brian turns away from Timothy to give him an unimpressed look. Theodore grins back and winks at him.

   Timothy sighs, with how loud Brian speaks whenever they meet in the bar anyone would think he is drunk; as planned. Brian probably wasn't even drunk when Joe ran his tab up and Timothy knows for a fact that he isn't the only one in that bar who owes 'drunk' Brian, and the bar, money.

   Timothy looks to the bar, then back to the pointed stare of Brian's contact blue eyes – the drink can wait. As much as his friends are acting like they have nothing better to do, he's grateful to know that they do. Something for him. He stands up and waits for them to do the same. Brian stays slumped against the table, Theodore makes no move either but he can see the mischief in their eyes, glinting like the sunshine across the polished tabletop.