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Summary
"Sit the fuck down, boy," he grumbles when Juice brushes against his back on his way in or out the room, physically crashing with his fragile zen.
Juice sits the fuck down alright, just like he has been told and when his bones hit the floor Chibs swings around because by the sound of it he slips and falls and what he expects to see is far more traumatic and far less confusing than the man on his haunches in an almost meditative pose with hands in his lap.