You know how Atton knew he was getting older? Not grey hairs, not lines in his face, but the fact it had taken him over 24 hours to fully recover from Friday's hangover. And even then he'd spent most of Saturday slumped on the sofa, enduring cracks at his expense.
But hey. At least he was up and back at it by Sunday.
"Remember, you're the muscle," Trent hissed, pulling him down a set of stairs. Atton had no idea why he was whispering. It wasn't like there was anyone else on that street. (He also had no idea what Trent needed muscle for.)
"Yeah, yeah," Atton muttered, and then the door opened, and he threw a passing and hopefully reassuring smile at the two kids loitering around in the hallway. "Sorry," he said, "He's from Portlan--"
( The Maestro will hear us! )
[[ can be open for phone calls and texts! just me exorcizing some vacation brain demons. ]]
But hey. At least he was up and back at it by Sunday.
"Remember, you're the muscle," Trent hissed, pulling him down a set of stairs. Atton had no idea why he was whispering. It wasn't like there was anyone else on that street. (He also had no idea what Trent needed muscle for.)
"Yeah, yeah," Atton muttered, and then the door opened, and he threw a passing and hopefully reassuring smile at the two kids loitering around in the hallway. "Sorry," he said, "He's from Portlan--"
( The Maestro will hear us! )
[[ can be open for phone calls and texts! just me exorcizing some vacation brain demons. ]]