Into the Specter

Chapter 20

(a/n) CW: Alcohol consumption

Flip is in the middle of chewing when he grabs the slice that Belgrade was reaching for. He knows he shouldn't antagonize him, he knows. But the look on Belgrade's face is worth your elbow colliding with his ribs.

Covering his laugh with a cough, Flip massages the spot on his side where you just whacked him. Belgrade's dark stare from across the table fades into the background when you giggle. Light laughter draws above the music playing from the speakers, compelling him to look to you at his side.

You're sitting just close enough to avoid raising suspicion. That's what he concludes, proceeding to mentally kick himself for starting to analyze how far away you chose to sit.

"-not anymore, he's not," Malta says, raising and flexing both of his arms. The entire table erupts in laughter. About what, Flip doesn't know. He's been tuning out most of the conversation, focused on eating. Five slices down and he's still hungry.

Your laugh, though, brings him back to reality. Flip sets down the pizza, crumpling the napkin in his fist under the table.

"We'll go again right now, yeah?" Dallas says, downing the rest of his beer before settling his elbow on the rickety table with an open hand.

"Idiots, this was already settled in Oslo," you say, trying not to laugh when Malta tightly grips Dallas's palm and slams it into the table without hesitation.

"I wasn't ready!"

Malta keeps his hold and smacks the back of Dallas's hand into the wood three more times, face turning red from laughter. "Your arm-wrestling skills need a bit more practice there, buddy."

With a strained noise of frustration, Dallas barely manages to keep his hand from striking the table for the fourth time. "Cheater," he shouts, using all of his strength. Arm vibrating with the pressure. Malta is cracking up, wheezing in giggles when he wins again.

"Undefeated," Malta roars, standing up and accidentally knocking his chair into the dirt when he stumbles backward. They're out back, set up with picnic chairs on the brick patio. Lights are strung up across the area, illuminating some of the nearby trees with a warm glow.

It's surprising to Flip that such effort was put in for a casual dinner. Also shocking him, is how much alcohol your group of five has managed to down in less than two hours.

"Right, because we're not counting Warsaw," London slurs, pulling her sleeves down and wrapping her arms around herself. Flip subtly shifts his eyes back to you, trying to notice if you're cold as well. You seem content. Smiling. It is chilly still, especially at night in the woods with winter barely gone. He's pretty sure he left the jacket in the room. Could go get it- no. No.

"Obviously-" Malta sits back down to the left of you, pouring another shot of whiskey and downing it. Dallas is rubbing the back of his hand, looking amused.

"Haven't beat everyone though," Belgrade barks, crossing his arms and leaning back. His chair creaks. The only sound before the patio goes completely silent.

Everyone's eyes snap to Flip.

"Does the detective even know how to arm wrestle?" Belgrade continues, a smug look on his face when he whines the word 'detective'. You bite the inside of your cheek and set down your drink, feeling Flip's body language turn rigid when Belgrade stands.

"Pretty sure the detective has a name-"

Dallas is interrupted Belgrade says, "No?" in a mocking voice, pouting his bottom lip.

"Who doesn't know how to arm wrestle, is my question. Had to be taught, did you?"

You try not to cross your legs at how deep Flip's voice sounds. No matter how many times you hear it, it manages to electrify your entire body. You're distracted, unable to stop him before he also stands, furthering the situation.