Fine. Then lay there and stare at the ceiling, I don't fucking care.

[he stalks back into the kitchen to grab the bar stool she keeps around and drags it into the living room. he sets it beside the couch and sits, more like perching, really, with his feet on the rungs at different levels and his hands on the seat between his legs]

I guess it's a good thing I decided to come over today, fuck.