(no subject)
*he's leaned against a wall, as per usual, and -- it's his birthday, though he's told nearly no one, and today he's forty-three years old (as much as that even matters anymore, thanks to Raphael) and in a positively foul mood*
*contemplates the glass of wine he's twirling in his fingers, absently studying the play of light on the liquid, and then takes a drink far longer and less dignified than befits the drink, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from turning down*
Happy fucking birthday to me. *drains the glass*
*please, feel very free to bother him*
*contemplates the glass of wine he's twirling in his fingers, absently studying the play of light on the liquid, and then takes a drink far longer and less dignified than befits the drink, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from turning down*
Happy fucking birthday to me. *drains the glass*
*please, feel very free to bother him*