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nose damp, uncomfortable. driver leans forward, rubbing the tip of his nose against the cloth over anthony's shoulder. return to sender.
"i'm glad." back up, eyes locking with theirs. he's smiling, maybe he has been since first spotting anthony.
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( perhaps, he is asking for too much. but that did hurt, a lot. there's probably already bruises forming. he's not going to bother removing himself from the floor. )
good job.
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( a series of key motions in quick succession; rapid-fire pings lighting up overused fight or flight responses. but he's not in danger, a tone bitter and sarcastic as it is, holds no power. )
i didn't mean to insinuate-
( holding his tongue, +
i can't fucking believe this...
( he lets out a dry, incredulous laugh, frustration bleeding into every word. why does everyone he meet insist on treating him like some lost, homeless puppy? )
fuck, i'm not homeless. it's just sleep, god.
+
i get it. ( sometimes, he's found through a multitude of previous neighbors, it's easier to talk through one's problems with strangers. one's they know they'll never see again. so, driver'd allow the bag to wander off his shoulder, strap held tightly in his hand. ready to +