when you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives
"A pleasure," Finn says. Or at least it will be, sooner or later. "You run the Hanged Man, don't you?" She leans over, both pressing herself against him and not, and he allows her to manipulate him around as she pleases. His chin tilts up, gaze locking on her own, and her question has him raising his eyebrows. There's a lopsided smile on his lips as well by now, though he can't for the life of him say what answer she's expecting from him.
"Still there, since the last time I checked," he says, clear amusement written in his expression. If he had been more brazen, more not Finn on the inside, he might have fired a question back at her. Something like how's yours or whatever else pops into his head. Alas, he isn't. "Does that work for you?"
"Still there, since the last time I checked," he says, clear amusement written in his expression. If he had been more brazen, more not Finn on the inside, he might have fired a question back at her. Something like how's yours or whatever else pops into his head. Alas, he isn't. "Does that work for you?"
Finn?
