Nate sighs. He tends to sigh a lot, but at least he has good reasons for it. “This is actually a rather accurate assessment. Metaphorically,” he adds, mostly at Brad’s look.
“Way to ruin the image,” Ray mutters.
“I didn’t want that image,” Brad shakes his head. “But then again, I don’t want any of the shit I get from you guys, but who cares about that?”
Poke shoots Nate a quick look, turning away the moment Nate catches it. Fuck, Nate thinks, he needs to be better at this, at reigning in his thoughts before they even appear, because one of this days someone will hear them and not keep them to themselves like Poke’s been doing. It’s bad enough that Mike gives him those weird sympathetic looks when Brad is around, which seems to be all the time. Just his luck.
“There’s more ,” Nate says, getting their attention again, after they diverged into a discussion of whether Brad loves the shit he gets or not and whether he is gay for Ray. You could easily tell which side of the argument Ray was on.
Sometimes it’s like running a kindergarten, if the kids were highly sexed, inappropriate, superpowered and with a worrying love for anything explosive and lethal.
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