Taste of Iron

Three: Ophtha-what

"Fascinating?" Atlas couldn't help but let out a laugh. He couldn't remember the last time anyone called him that, if ever.

"That's the first time you've smiled," Emil pointed out. "You look cute when you smile. You should do it more often."

Atlas felt his face grow warm at Emil's words, and he didn't doubt that his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. Did this man, a stranger that broke into Atlas's house, a criminal and possibly a gang member, just call him cute? Well, to be precise he called Atlas's smile cute, but it was the same thing.

"I smile. I do have emotions," Atlas muttered.

"You don't really show them. In fact, you didn't even seem scared when you saw me. I was half expecting you to scream and start throwing things but you... you just accepted what was going on," Emil said.

"I didn't see any point in reacting that way when I knew there wasn't much I could do about all of this, anyway. Not like yelling and throwing shit would've made you leave," Atlas rationalized. "Might as well just suck it up and count down the hours till morning."

"Huh," Emil hummed. "I guess that's good for me. Made my task easy. I didn't have to point my gun at your head or tie you up."

"Would you have really done that?"

"Yeah," Emil replied, his tone casual, as if holding a gun to someone's face was an every day thing for him. Which it probably was considering everything.

Atlas was intrigued. A part of him wanted to know what exactly Emil was involved in, but the other part knew that it was wiser to stay away. The less he knew, the better. At the end, his curiosity won as he spoke up.

"So, why are these guys looking for you?"

"Eh, you know how it goes."

"No, not really, I don't," Atlas deadpanned. "I don't go around meeting gangsters every day."

"Fair enough," Emil chuckled. "I pissed them off."

"How?"

"Someone is inquisitive all of a sudden, isn't he?" Emil smirked as he leant forward, resting his arms on his knees.

"We have time to kill."

"You can go and sleep."

"No thanks," Atlas retorted.

"Fine," Emil continued, "you wanna know how I pissed them off?"

"That's what I asked, didn't I?"

"Ooh, sassy again, I like it." Emil chuckled. "It's actually not what you think. The dude who's looking for me? I fucked his girlfriend."

"Huh." Atlas couldn't help but frown. "That was anti-climactic. No offense."

"None taken," Emil said. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Maybe you killed one of their buddies? Stole from them? My knowledge in this regard is limited only to the movies I've watched," Atlas replied.

"Real life is different. It's nothing like the movies," Emil added. "I would tell you more, but I don't think you want to know."

"Probably for the best if you don't tell me," Atlas mumbled. He didn't want to butt into business that wasn't his, especially in these regards. He liked his peaceful life just the way that it was.

"You didn't answer me earlier," Emil recalled. "What do you do for work?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Atlas answered. "You know my name. You know where I live. I'm not giving out any more information about who I am."

"Geez, you're more guarded than me and that's saying something considering my line of employment," Emil huffed.

"I'm sure what I do is nowhere near as thrilling as your job," Atlas stated.

With a single mother that worked multiple jobs to keep a roof above their head, Atlas had been helping out around the house since he was a kid. He was the only one that could make food that was edible, and he slowly grew to love cooking. He was good at it too, and creative. Always picking up new recipes and coming up with his own.

His first job was flipping burgers at a fast-food joint. He began working at a proper restaurant when he was twenty one, and just seven months ago he won a local cooking competition. One of the judges owned the restaurant where he was currently working, and offered him the position of a sous-chef.

Impressed by both Atlas's skills and work-ethic, when the old head chef decided to quit, Atlas got his job. It had only been two weeks since his promotion, and Atlas thought that he was doing okay so far.

With his personality, one would think that he would be just as timid at work, but that wasn't the case at all. He didn't shy away from barking orders or getting his staff in line, even in the heat of the kitchen. He kept the place running like a well-oiled machine, and had grown to be respected by his co-workers.

"Maybe," Emil said. "But something tells me there's more to you than what meets the eye."

"Go to an ophthalmologist then."

"Ophtha-what?"

"An eye doctor."

Emil laughed out loud, the kind that made you hold your knees and caused your eyes to water. Atlas didn't know what was so funny about what he had said. Usually whenever he did try to joke, his deadpan tone confused the recipient as they couldn't tell whether the blue-haired chef was being serious or sarcastic. But Emil seemed to have learned the difference quite quickly.

"Oh, fuck," Emil talked between chuckles, "thank you for being stupid enough to not lock your day, mano, you have turned out to be more entertaining that I initially gave you credit for."

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome," Emil replied. "Damn, it really kinda sucks that I won't ever see you again after this. I think we would have been great friends."

"Yeah, no," Atlas blinked. "I'd rather not be friends with you. No offense."

"Ouch, but fair enough," Emil spoke. "You never shy away from saying what's on your mind, do you?"

"I guess not," the chef mumbled.

"I like that."

"Hm," Atlas hummed. "Actually, now that I think of it, I do have Uno laying around."

"Dude! What are we waiting for, then?"

***