"Those bastards shuck me off to Gungan again and I'm gonna have some words for the ride algorithm." His nose twitches, frown attempting to get itself somewhere in the neighborhood of stern and missing by a mile, too comfortable and stupidly happy to make it even halfway there. He shakes his fist though, loosely and without any real ire. It's kinda hard to work up any proper ire in the current environment.
But then he's laughing again, bright and some strange mix of sheepish and delighted that he still isn't quite sure what to do with. It isn't that he doesn't want Lucas to know what do to with himself - it's just that he kind of wants to be there, maybe even this exact amount of there, when he's doing it. It's a guilty, thrilled, strange thing that he doesn't want to accidentally land mine himself on. But he does know with relative certainty that it'd be: "A lot less delinquent shit, no doubt."
Then they're turning the corner and Bash tilts his head up to glance at the small crowd outside of the restaurant and it's - Well, honestly, it's real cute. Looks something like a little hole-in-the-wall and that same, earlier strangling sensation sneaks up on him again, clawing syllables straight out of his throat.
"Do you -" Shut up, Guppy. No. "Should I have -" Ugh, stop words. Not now. "Um." Wow, that doesn't even count. Which - if his mouth is going to go like this he's at least going to get a full sentence out of it.
"This is okay, right?" It comes out fast and a little uneven, wrangles an entirely unimpressive hiccuping of breath out of him, words reaching such a level of miserable failure that he can feel his fingers starting to twitch with it. "I mean, I know that we could've - that there were - There was fake France. I should've taken you to fake France."
Two Nerds Go On A Capital D Date
But then he's laughing again, bright and some strange mix of sheepish and delighted that he still isn't quite sure what to do with. It isn't that he doesn't want Lucas to know what do to with himself - it's just that he kind of wants to be there, maybe even this exact amount of there, when he's doing it. It's a guilty, thrilled, strange thing that he doesn't want to accidentally land mine himself on. But he does know with relative certainty that it'd be: "A lot less delinquent shit, no doubt."
Then they're turning the corner and Bash tilts his head up to glance at the small crowd outside of the restaurant and it's - Well, honestly, it's real cute. Looks something like a little hole-in-the-wall and that same, earlier strangling sensation sneaks up on him again, clawing syllables straight out of his throat.
"Do you -" Shut up, Guppy. No. "Should I have -" Ugh, stop words. Not now. "Um." Wow, that doesn't even count. Which - if his mouth is going to go like this he's at least going to get a full sentence out of it.
"This is okay, right?" It comes out fast and a little uneven, wrangles an entirely unimpressive hiccuping of breath out of him, words reaching such a level of miserable failure that he can feel his fingers starting to twitch with it. "I mean, I know that we could've - that there were - There was fake France. I should've taken you to fake France."