Night had spread its wings over the city, which seemed to sleep for now. Most houses' lights had died out, the street were nearly emptied, and even the stars couldn't be spotted in the distant dark heaven. There must have been a reason why they had decided to reside somewhere else. It was a chilly night and the wind carried the lingering smell of the day's work out of the city.
Despite the cold, Dean only wore a grey t-shirt, ripped at some parts. His eyes were red and fighting the urge to stay open. His already nearly snow-white face was rough and paler from overwork. His black hair was in need of some washing, just like his 3-day beard. Dean literally staggered down the street, always slightly evading the coming person. His destination wasn't sure at the moment.
However, he suddenly came to a stop. There was a flickering lamp over his head, here and there revealing his dark expression. Although the light over his head wasn't the thing catching his attention. It was the warm glow coming from his right—a restaurant. Dean scratched his head.
'Well, it can't get any worse today! And damn,' he scratched his head, 'I need a drink! Or maybe more drinks!' With these thoughts, he entered the restaurant. He was immediately welcomed by warmth, not only coming from the light itself but also the cheerful people to his sides. Their shouting was deafening and their happiness contagious to the point that Dean managed a smirk. A brief one, though—yet enough to lighten him. (Dean: Maybe it was a good idea coming here!) Most of the restaurant's seats were full. Dean's eyes directed forward. The bar's seats were bare. At the bar itself, a broad darkskin man was standing and cleaning glasses. A wonder his hands even fit in them. With his 2m compred to Dean's 1,80m he appeared giant. He had long black dreads and wore a baggy black shirt and green baggy pants. What stood out the most where his bright silver eyes. Suddenly, slow jazz music played from the radio placed near the windows, and the light throughout the restaurant dimmed.
With sagged shoulders and dropped head, Dean strode towards the bar. As he took his seat, the bartender gave him a look. And a quick inspection of the man followed.
'What may I serve you?' he asked and placed the glass he was just cleaning down.
'A beer, please!' The bartender nodded, took the glass, and filled it with beer from the rooster just next to his right. While reaching the beer to Dean, he spoke:
'You must have had a hard day today. You look like shit—and I mean, really shit. I've seen many come and leave this restaurant, and never one like you was here!' As Dean took his beer, he replied:
'Hahah! Damn, I must really look bad. Well, it is what it is. Yes, it was hard, but when I think about my twin brother who's right now in war, I don't have the right to complain! Do I?'
'He's fighting in a war?'
'Yes!' Dean responded. 'He goes by Dae. A big figure, though he hides it. Only the people who survived against him in battles or fought alongside him will know of him.' (Dean: Well, can't remember who ever lived after a fight against him!) Dean gulped half his beer down, placed it back, and sighed. 'Well,' he went through his hair twice, 'he's a great brother and helped me a lot. Sadly… people always compared me to him and… well! You know, he is everything my parents ever dreamed of, and I am… I am me, hahah! Only our appearance is the same.'
'Twins I guess! Yeah, sucks!' the bartender agreed. 'But I just hope your brother comes back alive!' – The resulting laugh of Dean was loud, to the point even the others turned towards him.
'Don't worry about him, but rather about the people who'll face him!'