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"You're still here?"
With a shift, a scuffle and the achey unwinding of his back as his chair rolls out from under the table, Jahseh uprights himself where he sits and zeroes onto his brother, who posts himself against the doorway to his office like the courtesy of knocking is by some means beneath him. Sullivan, toting a shaggy cloth littered with grease and its sorts, wipes his hands somewhat clean, sluggish to make his point much to Jahseh's dismay.
"You need something?"
"No."
"So fuck off," Jahseh mumbles, and then disappears back beneath his desk. He continues to fiddle with the laces of his steel toe boots, as he had been for the past five or so minutes, because their mismatched lengths had grown to bother him that much.
"Make me come in there and do you something," Sullivan scoffs. He strolls deeper into the room anyway, a blind ear turned to Jahseh's lowly chuckles. He wavers between a seat at the desk and the boucle curved sofa against the wall, before he opts for the latter. "You said you'd be out by 2."
"And so what if I ain't?"
Again, Jahseh rears himself upwards, so he can take Sullivan in, alongside all his stony misgivings. The two sit all through their glares, one altogether a spitting image of the other, before Sullivan begrudgingly caves.
