Re: log: blake and graham, thorne house
Graham viewed the look of genuine surprise on Blake's face as nothing short of what he'd expected. It was bravado, offering to let him take a swing. But now he'd accepted, or so the boy thought, and there was a second or two where he wondered if Blake would back down or actually stand. He did the latter, which was a tiny bit more respectable than if he'd cowered in fear. He was steadier on his feet than the skinny rich kid, the alcohol giving him a buzz without crossing the line into drunk. There was no way he was ducking out of the way, no way to avoid what he thought was coming. But he was facing it like a man. That was something.
He regarded him, a stand-off in the dark. Blake turned his head, and he sneered, telling him to get on with it. Graham took a step forward, fist drawn back, but he never threw the punch. He grabbed his collar instead, both hands, his grip strong and sure. He shook the boy a little, yanked him closer in an entirely threatening manner. "I could hit you," he hissed, a whisper shared between them. "I could break your jaw, hard enough that you'd need it wired shut. I could break your nose. Give you a black eye. But it won't cheer me up, and it won't change a damn thing." He yanked just a little harder. "You fucked up, but hitting some stupid rich kid won't make me feel better. Won't make you feel better either."
With that, he gave Blake a hard shove back and let go. "Forget what you saw. And if you can't, pretend you can."