[It's hard for him to stay quiet like this. When the mood is more fraught, he's always the one with everything to say, crowding the air out of the room and Crowley out of space to think. So he doesn't this time.
He nibbles his biscuit, brushes away a few crumbs, slowly turns his tea cup between his hands, handle to thumb, reverse. Handle to thumb, reverse. He takes a few sips.
The conversation isn't what he was expecting. He goes with it, because what's the point of giving someone else the wheel if one is going to hijack it the moment the other person takes things somewhere different than one hoped?]
Cucumbers perhaps. Cucumber sandwiches are nice when it gets warmer.
no subject
He nibbles his biscuit, brushes away a few crumbs, slowly turns his tea cup between his hands, handle to thumb, reverse. Handle to thumb, reverse. He takes a few sips.
The conversation isn't what he was expecting. He goes with it, because what's the point of giving someone else the wheel if one is going to hijack it the moment the other person takes things somewhere different than one hoped?]
Cucumbers perhaps. Cucumber sandwiches are nice when it gets warmer.