"What?" he asks, making a pass at affronted and doing tolerably well. He still looks faintly off-colour, and might uncharitably be said to be clutching his food, rather than holding it. But he's breathing deeply, and if his heartbeat is still a little emphatic, it no longer feels like it's about to hammer right out of his chest.
"You can't expect me to eat cold takeaway. That's disgusting. Or for hangovers."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-02-24 07:55 am (UTC)"You can't expect me to eat cold takeaway. That's disgusting. Or for hangovers."