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"Find out why Fiona is wearing a fucking paper crown?" Ryan asked when Miguel ambled over to their table on the second story, flipping a page and not looking up.
Ryan didn't give a shit, of course, but Miguel had needed to know why Fiona had been parading around sort of dressed up all day. Technically today was Halloween, which Miguel maybe only knew because Sister Pete had a paper bat stuck to the glass window of her door and a daily calendar on her desk. Lost track of shit like that in here, not like it was Christmas or something.
"Yep – costume."
Small snort from Ryan at that–"Princess? Makes sense, I guess. Dumb fucking choice in here to be a princess, though."
"Nah, see, that's what I thought, but her and Pinkerton looked about ready to slap me for saying it– recognized the expression from my Sis, fucking eerie how similar they were– got all pissy, and corrected me."
Ryan looked up briefly in mild question.
"Fiona is a motherfucking Queen, apparently. Queen of the Emerald City." Miguel embellished, hands spreading wide with his flowing words, before grabbing a chair and dragging it closer to Ryan.
"Ah, better. Still sucks for a kingdom, though." Ryan muttered to his magazine before– "Wait," head jerked up to meet Miguel's eyes again, "That mean she's married to the King, McManus!?" Pure disgust on Ryan's face, understandably. That'd be way worse than Beauty and the Beast or something.
Miguel chuckled, settling in the chair beside Ryan, his Irishman's body loose in his seat, flowing over the chair onto the table where his legs were propped up. "Please– Fiona can do better than his pathetic ass."
Ryan's attention shrugged back to his magazine. "True."
"Then they both wanted to know what I was."
Ryan cocked an eye towards him, not entirely disengaged from the conversation, still actually listening to Miguel, just…chilling, calm and comfortable. "They do know nobody but their crazy asses dresses up for goddamn Halloween in here, right?"
Miguel shrugged mostly to feel Ryan's body against his shoulder, slumping comfortably close in his own chair. "Told 'em it was obvious." Miguel ran fingers down his jawline, sitting up for a second, other hand running down his torso lightly. Ryan's gaze returned all its focus to him, magazine drooping temporarily in his hands. "Got the looks, the charm – I'm a fucking Prince, baby."
Ryan eyeballed him, but didn't give him shit. Green eyes were too fond of everything Miguel had just drawn his hands over, after all. Only spurred a fleeting grimace from Ryan, not directed at Miguel– "Queen Fiona better not have hit on you for that shit."
"Nah, I'm taken." Miguel winked, amusement infectious between them, cracking Ryan's brief glower back to something comfortable and engaged. "Then they asked about you–"
Miguel was unsurprised by Ryan's eye roll in response. "--I'm not wearing a fucking costume."
"Sure you are, I told 'em and they agreed."
Ryan's questioning expression actually looked clueless instead of secretly knowing for once, and a little annoyed by that fact, too.
So, Miguel put him out of his misery, reaching out to tug on the flopped down hood of Ryan's black hoodie. "Black hood, stone cold badass with the smoothest moves…" Miguel prompted, merely being met with more patient blankness. Miguel grinned in its beautiful face– "You're the grim reaper, baby."
The laugh that surprised out of Ryan, genuine and deep, shook right against Miguel's side, spreading across both their faces.
Miguel pulled his prize out of his own black hoodie. (Ryan's, actually – borrowed years ago and never returned, merely exchanged for Miguel's, which was technically the one Ryan was wearing now. Not that anybody but them could tell, since they were the same.) "Gave me a lollipop."
"Seriously? Jesus Christ, they're in love with you or stupid to give your ass candy for free."
"Nope. Besides, doesn't matter. Taken, remember?" Miguel crinkled the wrapper in his palm, popping the sugary treat into his mouth theatrically afterwards.
None for Ryan, he'd just have to suck the taste off Miguel's tongue later.