[ Tate doesn't seem angry, so. Michael doesn't push. He smiles, pushing himself to look half reassured, half shy. He tilts his head, keeping his hands on his knees, watching Tate take a line, and when it's his turn, he doesn't... really want to do this. But.
He started it. Gonna see it through. He takes his note, makes it smooth and straight, and he ignores the twist in his gut when he snorts his line. It-- fucking sucks, honestly, making his eyes water and his nose feel all weirdly blocked when it isn't, and he coughs when he's done, sniffling and blowing his nose on his hand like he's trying to dislodge any unsettled powder. All he gets is a knuckle full of mucus, which he wipes off on his shirt, shaking his head. He does his best to look like he's handling this, but - ]
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[ Tate doesn't seem angry, so. Michael doesn't push. He smiles, pushing himself to look half reassured, half shy. He tilts his head, keeping his hands on his knees, watching Tate take a line, and when it's his turn, he doesn't... really want to do this. But.
He started it. Gonna see it through. He takes his note, makes it smooth and straight, and he ignores the twist in his gut when he snorts his line. It-- fucking sucks, honestly, making his eyes water and his nose feel all weirdly blocked when it isn't, and he coughs when he's done, sniffling and blowing his nose on his hand like he's trying to dislodge any unsettled powder. All he gets is a knuckle full of mucus, which he wipes off on his shirt, shaking his head. He does his best to look like he's handling this, but - ]
Ugh. Jesus Christ.
[ - he ain't. ]