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    Summary

    “So. I hear you're teaching movie stars how to play poker.” His voice is just as Johnny remembers. Low and lazy, but with the unmistakable energy behind. Something still seems off.

    “Well.” Johnny takes a sip. “The work's been boring lately without any crazy fuckers dropping in at one in the morning, offering to spray-paint a statue at Met.” It was a fun night, and although they didn’t vandalize the work of art, they did manage to steal and sell it. “I didn't know you got paroled. You could've at least texted.”

    Ten shrugs and looks at his glass.

    “I thought it'd be better to talk in person. Besides,” he takes a pause and frowns a little. It usually means he's unsure, and those moments when Ten is unsure are extremely rare. “Would you have texted back?”

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