Hallway: Atticus M/Steve M
[He came in quickly. Up the stairs. His button-up shirt was undone, tie loose, and he'd left his jacket down by the front door. He made his way toward Atticus' room. He had a carton of cigarettes in one hand, newly purchased, and, hooked around his opposite wrist was takeout from the diner. It smelled like hamburgers and grease.] Hey. [Steve drew up to Atticus, shifting the bag to his other hand, so he could touch the man, if able, with a brush of fingers to curls at nape.] Food. [He lifted the bag.] Cigarettes. [He jostled the carton.]