»Sighs, rolling his eyes and moving a shoulder up so he can dig in his pocket, and place one on her hand. Before taking away his own hand, he points a free finger at her, cigarette hanging between two teeth.—
But you owe me.
»Then he takes his hand back.—
-looks up at him and smiles-
I know I do. Light? -places the cigarette to her lips-
»Rolls his eyes once more, reaching up with the lighter to light it up.—
-lets it light and takes a long drag, eyes closed. She lets the smoke fill her mouth and nose, the burning almost making her cough. She exhales and tilts her head back-
Maybe I’m not as innocent as you’ve convinced yourself I am.
»He leans against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. His head tilts back up from looking at the sky, and he squints at her, shrugging, smirking a bit.—
Pretty sure I figured out the whole ‘not all that innocent’ deal the night you so graciously “gave” that coke back to me.
It’s a stereotype.
Y’know, how all’a ‘ya- most a ‘ya Socs assume we’re the bad guys?