[Fugo hasn't been going to class much lately. Not that he went often to begin with. But he's a creature of habit, he likes routines, and for a while it was kind of nice to stop by the university three times a week. The library's not bad for what it is. Which, speaking of: that's his destination this morning, because he's sick of the streets and he's even sicker of the increasingly cramped-feeling apartment. He feels tired and out of sorts, but. That's an every day sort of feeling.
He doesn't know Stiles. But he does know a messed up arm and mobility when he sees it. His eyes flick from Stiles to the direction he's pointed at: a university parking lot. He restlessly sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and frowns.]
You sure you should be trying to drive with an arm like that?
i. university
He doesn't know Stiles. But he does know a messed up arm and mobility when he sees it. His eyes flick from Stiles to the direction he's pointed at: a university parking lot. He restlessly sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and frowns.]
You sure you should be trying to drive with an arm like that?