[ Maybe it's the first rush of alcohol getting to work in his bloodstream (probably not, but Krouse isn't an experienced enough drinker to know that), or maybe it's just the infectiousness of Fabian's genuine excitement, but either way, Krouse feels an unexpectedly real warmth at the enthusiasm his gesture is being met with. He laughs once, dry and surprised, and shifts his remaining bag to his hand holding his cup so he can run his fingers through his hair. ]
Mm. You got me. I'm manuevering my way up the social ladder as we speak.
[ Impulsively, he darts his hand out to nudge Fabian in the shoulder with his knuckles, several tiers down the measurement of force from a 'punch'. ]
Is it working?
[ He can hang in this register of back and forth shit-giving. It gets less weird the more he practices slipping back into it, like chipping flakes of rust off an old set of hinges by working a door. ]
no subject
Mm. You got me. I'm manuevering my way up the social ladder as we speak.
[ Impulsively, he darts his hand out to nudge Fabian in the shoulder with his knuckles, several tiers down the measurement of force from a 'punch'. ]
Is it working?
[ He can hang in this register of back and forth shit-giving. It gets less weird the more he practices slipping back into it, like chipping flakes of rust off an old set of hinges by working a door. ]