[ For a moment - brief and shining like starlight, as though the smog and clouds cleared away - this was nice. This felt like something (innocent) (happy) (good, oh, good) without all the worries and biting efforts of the world dragging at his heels. He (a boy) had prodded Treavor (a boy) and Treavor (a boy) had laughed. Squirmed. (Pleasure. That was. Pleasure.)

(His heart clenches. When was the last time he pleased anyone? When was the last time he himself felt a glow of warm contentment, felt happy, felt playful?) (He'd like to.) ((It would be nice to. Hear that laughter again.))

And for another moment, he's also maybe smiling, because Treavor's smiling, and his coworker has a nice smile and a nice laugh, and this is easy, this is fun and nothing has to be unkind about it.

It slips away so fast.

Treavor, searching for a drink. Treavor's eyes gone and his smile elsewhere and Alice blinking confusion that he could, much less would, be so enmeshed in any one or two moments of a smile. Alice looking at his now-empty hand (it's always empty) and flexing, slowly, fingers curling open and closed and open again. Alice looking out at the water with a little frown. ]

With all the garbage and chemicals -

[ Treavor's drunk, he reminds himself. And his own pessimism doesn't need to permeate the night's melancholy. It's sad enough without him. So he leans forward, too. ]

- if there are, they're ten feet long, and they've got three eyes. Can you see anything glowing neon down there?