[ There's no small talk. Carver pulls his bowl close, instinctively defensive, and doesn't break the silence as they eat. It's good pasta. More spices than he's had access to for a long time. Good, strong garlic. Lemons. A feast of riches, the sort his family used to joke about sometimes. All the food they missed, that Carver and some of the others tried to recreate occasionally. That they tried to make for Matthew because the kid ought to know what it was like to have something good.
He liked candy corn, Carver thinks absently. That weird, waxy shit. Kid couldn't get enough of it.
Stow that shit. Don't ever go there.
He doesn't go there. He eats, and he watches Gold, and he doesn't say a word until he's done.
no subject
He liked candy corn, Carver thinks absently. That weird, waxy shit. Kid couldn't get enough of it.
Stow that shit. Don't ever go there.
He doesn't go there. He eats, and he watches Gold, and he doesn't say a word until he's done.
Carver lays his fork down deliberately. ]
You want to fuck or not?