And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"
The first question had Sam very confused for a few moments, obvious in the frown on his brows even as his mouth was occupied. He scanned his memory for 'dickrektors'...eventually he realised Zeph probably meant Nate, who had some kind of hilariously ill-fitting title about being the director of Social Affairs. While he wasn't sure exactly who had attacked Nate, he was pretty certain it hadn't been Wessex...he shook his head just the slightest amount, careful not to jostle around Zeph's wrist too much.
He rolled his eyes when Zeph again avoided the subject. Did he really think Sam was that stupid? Perhaps he was not the most charismatic or socially intelligent, but he knew this wasn't just the normal drunk sadness.
Reaching up to poke at Zeph's thigh, when they met eyes Sam gave him a hard look, furrowing his brows down hard. Hopefully even without his mouth, it would communicate what he wanted to: stop lying to me.
He rolled his eyes when Zeph again avoided the subject. Did he really think Sam was that stupid? Perhaps he was not the most charismatic or socially intelligent, but he knew this wasn't just the normal drunk sadness.
Reaching up to poke at Zeph's thigh, when they met eyes Sam gave him a hard look, furrowing his brows down hard. Hopefully even without his mouth, it would communicate what he wanted to: stop lying to me.
SAMUEL
