whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

Remi hates how easily Ronin is able to make him smile despite himself. Indeed his cheeks are so round he can very nearly see them out of his peripheral vision. Huffing a laugh he directs toward the ceiling to give himself a reprieve from the laughter in the mechanic's eyes, he shakes his head. "Oh? Not even if someone made some huge art blunder, or said Banksy is just an asshole with a spray can?"

Ronin's quip is just stupid enough that Remi's smile returns to normal as his gaze dips back from the ceiling where he can pin his new .... whatever Ronin is, with an unimpressed stare. "Phone just vibrated. Foods about 3 minutes away, if I'm—" Knock knock. Cue laugh track. "Well. There you go."

Rising as if the apartment is his own and collecting their food from the awkward teenager who probably delivers food to pay for his gas money, Remi wanders into the kitchenette with a smirk. "Is that what it was about? You shoved someone?" Pausing as he sets the food down, the smell of basil and freshly baked bread beginning to push through the plastic bag, Remi snorts. "Look at us. Straightish, but for different reasons."

Within the plastic are carefully wrapped sandwiches, not unlike the one Ronin would have had for lunch—and not unlike the one probably in his fridge right now, the one Remi hadn't eaten. These sandwiches have freshly baked bread with Italian herbs and spices, holding between them large hand-rolled meatballs, smeared with a red sauce that already has Remi's mouth watering. And of course, there's the cheese. 'Two years.' He replies with a frown, before glancing vaguely at Ronin's cupboards. "Should I even bothering looking..?" He wonders, insinuating of course that the man doesn't have any plates.

ThE RoCkStAr