That was easier than expected. Lukas thumbed his teabag down into the boggy recesses of a Don't Mess With Texas mug before he swigged a sip and marveled at her retreat. Dosey-doing sweetly with her broken marionette partner while the world obviously swayed beneath her sake skates.
To be honest, he was surprised she'd hiked all of the way up here at all. It might have registered in the the skeptical bluegrass hustle of his tightening eyes when he pulled his apartment door shut behind him, protected by faded house slippers and making no effort to lock anything up. What was somebody going to do, steal his TS Eliot anthologies?
He made quite the charming escort, dressed down in a pair of burgundy flannel pajama pants noose knotted securely on the questionably nourished cliff of his hips. And while those pants might have seen better days, how could he be judged by his aww-inspiring t-shirt?
He gestured for her to hand her broken friend over, as he realized that it might be a more profitable trip downstairs if she concentrated solely on keeping herself vertical.