[ It takes a second for Michael to process Tate's laugh, but - when he does, there's this warm, excited feeling bursting in his chest. Maybe it's the coke, but he doesn't think it is, it's just-- Tate's fucking laughing with him? Tate's laughing, shoving him a little, treating him like a friend. Michael needs to take advantage of this. ]
Yeah.
[ He sniffs against his hand a few times, shaking his head and scrunching his eyes shut tight. He's smiling, though, all shy and pleased with himself, that kind of boyish, self-congratulatory happiness that comes after doing something big when you're an insecure teenager still figuring out what you're good at. He thinks he can feel his high building, this rush of disorienting endorphins that's almost sickening in how fast it's coming, and... he sort of wants more already. Coke is very more-ish. ]
no subject
Yeah.
[ He sniffs against his hand a few times, shaking his head and scrunching his eyes shut tight. He's smiling, though, all shy and pleased with himself, that kind of boyish, self-congratulatory happiness that comes after doing something big when you're an insecure teenager still figuring out what you're good at. He thinks he can feel his high building, this rush of disorienting endorphins that's almost sickening in how fast it's coming, and... he sort of wants more already. Coke is very more-ish. ]
I kinda wanna get in a fight. Is that normal?