Luther's still staring, his jaw taut; biting back on all the comebacks that might've slipped their reins and rolled out if he had a quicker tongue and if he was anything more like Diego in that respect. What crawled up your ass and died.
In the end, it's just a simple question instead: "What's your problem today?" A fair question for Diego most days, honestly, but Luther's left scrounging his memory, trying to pinpoint what he said to Diego last time they spoke, what Luther might've said or done to accidentally piss him off.
And, oddly, this time there's actually nothing.
"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"
Still trying to sidestep the thing Diego brought up, because it feels too much like something real and serious, and a subject neither of them try to broach much. (But of course, today isn't a usual day, and little does he know this isn't the usual Diego—)
no subject
In the end, it's just a simple question instead: "What's your problem today?" A fair question for Diego most days, honestly, but Luther's left scrounging his memory, trying to pinpoint what he said to Diego last time they spoke, what Luther might've said or done to accidentally piss him off.
And, oddly, this time there's actually nothing.
"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"
Still trying to sidestep the thing Diego brought up, because it feels too much like something real and serious, and a subject neither of them try to broach much. (But of course, today isn't a usual day, and little does he know this isn't the usual Diego—)