It's tripping into a stranger on the subway, is what it's like. Orange's body is singing a lament to his wedding ring while Freddy just wants to double over and apologize and maybe take a cab next time.

White's attention drifts over to Orange like an iceberg, full and unstoppable. "You catch the game last night?"

Orange's mind races for the tail end of the conversation going around the table. "Uh," a blink. Blame it on the beer. "The baseball game?" He sits up straighter. He does like baseball, just hasn't had any time to sit down and enjoy a game in a long while.

White's eyes light up over the rim of his coffee mug. His fist closes over Orange's far shoulder and he gives a tug. Chuckling, he sets his cup carefully to the table. Then his attention is back on Orange, and his smile does weird things to the pit of Orange's stomach. "Never thought I'd get to see it, the day the Brewers started winning me money again. Shit," White looks over their meager crowd. "Like a crisis of faith, these last three seasons. Then bam, outta nowhere, Varnes and Crowley take it to the fences."

White shrugs back against the booth, chuckling. Joe is congratulatory and at the same time wants to know how much he won. White rounds off a figure, but it's no safe bet that a few fellas what might owe him will skip out. Orange listens carefully for any name drops, smile quirking up when White frowns a question his way.

It's just a matter of circumstance, is what it is. Orange settles back with his beer, heel tucked up on the edge of the booth seat, one elbow hanging lazily over his knee. White's arm is just behind his neck, heat and scent and the colorful splash of hibiscus print on a short sleeve.

Orange knocks back the beer, hair tickling the inside of White's elbow. He leans forward to find a clear spot on the table to deposit the empty bottle and by the time he relaxes back again White's arm is half caught on the withdraw. Orange startles up, both feet hit the floor, Orange doesn't make it past the apology before White's arm is tightening behind him, curling around his waist.

It's a brief squeeze and they shift to let Nice Guy out to 'powder his nose', and White's arm has tripped and found itself under Orange's jacket and it's awkward and it's comfortable and Orange swallows audibly and picks up someone else's beer.

White isn't even paying attention. He's bragging about the baseball game, laughing at Blonde's dry rejoinders. Blonde catches Orange's eye and winks and for no reason at all this makes Orange's skin go hot. He lights a cigarette just to prove to himself that he can do so with steady hands.

Thank yoooouuuuuu T vT

Excellent! So glad you like it. :)