[Both mugs plunk on the counter top. Black. The steam rolls and writhes in the air. The smell clears his nasal passages of the lingering scent of the night before. Scent and memory are so firmly braided together. Matt lets his hands frame the mug, enjoying the warmth. The touch and smell do not detract from the harrowing information coming at him. His brow furrows even deeper.
John is used to how Matt's eyes rest on him without seeing anything. The soft focus clouds over and he fights to keep composed.]
You--John, you--? It killed them?
[No doubting what he heard. Matt's voice is rough and low he swallows and blinks.]
no subject
John is used to how Matt's eyes rest on him without seeing anything. The soft focus clouds over and he fights to keep composed.]
You--John, you--? It killed them?
[No doubting what he heard. Matt's voice is rough and low he swallows and blinks.]