[As much as he's loathed to admit it, it's hard to not be amused by Claude's antics sometimes. Like now, for instance. Felix rolls his eyes and shakes his head, tries not to think too much about how easily Claude can not only worm his way into his personal space without Felix minding too much, but also threaten to make him laugh on top of it all.
As Claude sits, so does Felix on the bed, his legs criss-crossed; the violin and the bow lay neat and undisturbed on the bedspread beside him.]
Age before beauty.
[He smirks as he gestures out toward Claude and his lute.]
no subject
As Claude sits, so does Felix on the bed, his legs criss-crossed; the violin and the bow lay neat and undisturbed on the bedspread beside him.]
Age before beauty.
[He smirks as he gestures out toward Claude and his lute.]