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Summary
Lio sets the dice down, folds his hands on top of his desk. “Galo,” he says with exaggerated patience, “you’re… how old are you again?”
“Twenty-two!”
“Okay. You’re a twenty-two-year-old manchild with more enthusiasm than is good for you and one brain cell to handle it with. I’m a former eldritch being of unimaginable power and considerably more years than you.”
Galo waggles his eyebrows. “I dig experienced,” he says.
Lio’s pale brows levitate into his hairline. “Are you seriously hitting on me right now?” he asks in disbelief. “Or are you just trying to get a rise out of me? And either way, do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Galo slams his hand on Lio’s desk. “I think it’s the best goddamn idea I’ve ever had!” he says.
~ in which ~
Lio is struggling with the aftermath of the Second World Blaze: mourning his fire, dealing with his past trauma, reintegrating into society, rebuilding his life.
Galo is struggling with the fact that Lio isn't kissing him. What’s up with that?
Series
- Part 1 of Set the Night on Fire