"That's like apologizing for needing to take a shit," Cillian tells her, half over his shoulder, as he rummages in a cupboard, pulls out things one at a time and sets them on the counter. "Everyone cries. Anyone who tells you different en't to be trusted."
Cillian isn't wearing the uniform at all, because fuck that. He only pretended to like authority to piss off his parents. Still, he's swathed in a giant black hoodie, and he pushes the sleeves up to his wrists as he makes the tea because otherwise the ragged edges come down over his hands.
The hot water dispenser splashes and catches his hand, and he winces but otherwise ignores it. Once everything's ready he lets it all just sit for a moment, the tea steeping in the little pot, and turns around to lean his skinny arse up against the edge of the counter, folds his arms. "Besides, sometimes it feels good to throw a little pity party and hate everything. Long as you know when to end it."
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Cillian isn't wearing the uniform at all, because fuck that. He only pretended to like authority to piss off his parents. Still, he's swathed in a giant black hoodie, and he pushes the sleeves up to his wrists as he makes the tea because otherwise the ragged edges come down over his hands.
The hot water dispenser splashes and catches his hand, and he winces but otherwise ignores it. Once everything's ready he lets it all just sit for a moment, the tea steeping in the little pot, and turns around to lean his skinny arse up against the edge of the counter, folds his arms. "Besides, sometimes it feels good to throw a little pity party and hate everything. Long as you know when to end it."