Carver, [ he corrects, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his glass. It's not said with malice, just a statement of fact. Only Leah ever calls him Brandon these days, a line he doesn't care to cross no matter how much he likes Shaw and Root. They make sense to him in a way the rest of this place often doesn't. And that, Carver knows, is a precious thing.
Still.
He tilts his head a little, watching both of them curiously. Wondering if this is Root playing a game just for the Hell of it, tossing out an offer to spin them both up just so she can laugh at the resulting chaos. If there is, indeed, resulting chaos.
They're both beautiful, Carver acknowledges. He has eyes. But it's rare that he allows himself to look at other people that way, for any reason. Why risk it, when so often strangers simply become targets?
These two haven't yet. They are, he realizes suddenly, the closest thing he has to friends right now.
He hums a little. Flicking his nail against the glass. ]
I am very pretty, [ he agrees solemnly. All these things are true. ]
no subject
Still.
He tilts his head a little, watching both of them curiously. Wondering if this is Root playing a game just for the Hell of it, tossing out an offer to spin them both up just so she can laugh at the resulting chaos. If there is, indeed, resulting chaos.
They're both beautiful, Carver acknowledges. He has eyes. But it's rare that he allows himself to look at other people that way, for any reason. Why risk it, when so often strangers simply become targets?
These two haven't yet. They are, he realizes suddenly, the closest thing he has to friends right now.
He hums a little. Flicking his nail against the glass. ]
I am very pretty, [ he agrees solemnly. All these things are true. ]