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Brad. Braaaaaaad.
Your face, sir.
It says, let me love you, you bitch.
raypersoning requested — brad/ray, song “heaven’s gonna wait” by hedley
'Cause we're just two bodies with just one heart,
We're just one body that one day fell apart
“Smells like New York should,” Ray mutters, wrinkling his nose. The subway shrieks along, white noise in Ray’s ears; their knees bump together, and he thinks of a circuit, and electricity, and eight grade science. Ridiculous little thoughts that probably won’t get beyond the back of his teeth.
He tries very hard not to look at the white envelop in Brad’s hands.
Brad smiles, humour held in the corner of his eye, and taps the envelop on the palm of his hand. Forms rattle. “Smells a hell of a lot better than Missouri, Ray.”
Ray puts his tongue between his teeth, and with a bright, disorganized smile, he says: No shit Colbert.
City Hall is six blocks away.
