"listen, i had it. you didn’t have to jump in like that, ghost boy--” hem of his t-shirt is held against split lip, muffling indignant tones. it’s not every day your adoptive brother, who’s also been dead - gone, buried in the ground - for fuck knows how many years, saves you from being fleeced. ok, so maybe he forgot how much he owed for this batch. it’s not klaus’ fault, there’s a lot going on right now. all that jazz.
number four ignores the confused glances from others sat at the same bus stop, he’s oblivious to them at this point, apparently. “since when were we doin’ that shit whenever you wanted to, anyway?” he still doesn’t know how they did it that one time. doesn’t really remember much of it, if he’s honest with himself. tie dye shirt is pulled back, inspected and shifted to broken skin over his eye and through dark brow. “people are gonna talk y’know. i can already see the headlines - ‘local junkie talks to himself and slams dealers against walls without even moving.’” // @spectralhorror // hi bb