we are ready for a street fight — p

Simon glanced up, not at all fazed by John's less-than-conventional entry. "There's a door, ye know," was all he offered as a greeting. He leaned forward against the railing, glancing to his side at the Scotsman. Of course, that's the first thing he wants to discuss in the morning. Simon rolled his eyes, shrugging a shoulder. He took another long drag, watching the smoke pour from his mouth and disperse on the light, chilly wind. He flicked the ash over the side, leaning his head to the side as he looked at John again. "Can we get breakfast first? I'm fuckin' hungry and I don't think I'm ready to face whatever bullshit there is today." Keeping up appearances was hard, especially when he didn't really get money from the gig. It was hard to pay a guy that refused to reveal his identity.

"Also, got supper wif' my mum later today, you wanna come?" he asked, dark gaze lingering just a few moments longer than necessary before he looked back out at the city's skyline. While he wished they could take the day off, he knew it wasn't possible. They'd some idiot in peril, Simon would try to get out of it, asking for just one day off. All it would take was a look from John and they would be on the front page news that afternoon. Damn him and his pretty eyes. He snorted at the thought, crushing the rest of the lit cig against the railing and tossing it on the table. He turned and stepped back into his apartment, leaving the sliding glass door open for John to follow through.

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