End of the line.

favourite quotes: albert camus

An inquiry? I’m listening.

 This time he doesn’t bother to stop his eyes from rolling, indulgent and exaggerated, but the lines at the corner deepen with his smile. “You’re mad, Drystan,” he scolds, still willing to play. He isn’t flinching from the closeness, the intimacy; that much had changed. 

A soft snort escapes him, and he actually reaches out first, rough fingers curling around Drystan’s to tap softly against the smaller man’s palm. “Woe is me, getting propositioned by a lovely man and a damn good one, too. Though he sounds all out of his mind tonight, thinkin’ there’s better blonds out there.”

It was stupid to think he could just forget. It haunted every breath - but this was as good as it could get. And he’d take it. He was selfish like that.

“Drystan,” he breathes, shoulders actually relaxing a fraction. Drystan, after all, was not precisely the type to crack a spoon across his knuckles. Probably. “I’ll be. Figured you’d already be busy, lovely.” 

Lifting his mug, he offers the younger man a joking half-toast. “You tell Mama I owe her my sanity, and I’ll be gettin’ quite a few more of these, so I guess I owe her my coin, too.” The barest hesitation, and he kicks the other stool next to him out just a bit, a clear invitation should the other choose to take it. Just because he isn’t sure about the other offer on the table doesn’t mean he’s going to pass up a chance to chat with one of the very few people whose company was reassuring. “You can’t tell me you’re still interested in that stuff wit’ me.”

It is a little bit genuinely disbelieving, but it isn’t entirely true; he knows his patronage is still welcome. A quiet snort escapes him, and he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes lest Drystan think it’s directed at him (it certainly isn’t).

GRAVES TF MF & GP!  I drew some quick portraits of these bilgewater guys :^)