MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
Call it an attempt to get them to see eye to eye, but Milo can read through what he’s done to Rigby. Only, much to Rigby’s dismay, he simply doesn’t care. He puffs from his cigarette, the young red head casting a glance to the other boy when the confirmation rings out into the air. A smirk crosses his face and he focuses on that small, minor win, where he can.
But Rigby’s turning toward him and Milo’s turning his head back toward the boy with raised brows of amusement, a quirk of his lips. “Y’gotta deal.” He fishes out the pack of smokes again, slipping one out and handing it to Rigby with a tilt of his head. He’d even light it for the other man if he wanted, Milo wasn’t picky.
“’m Milo, by th’way.”
But Rigby’s turning toward him and Milo’s turning his head back toward the boy with raised brows of amusement, a quirk of his lips. “Y’gotta deal.” He fishes out the pack of smokes again, slipping one out and handing it to Rigby with a tilt of his head. He’d even light it for the other man if he wanted, Milo wasn’t picky.
“’m Milo, by th’way.”
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
