"So you're running?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but do you mean it?"
"Course I fucking do!"
Gordon smiles a little, holds up his hands in defense. "Alright, alright." With that, he picks up his guitar, lazily. He begins picking out the intro to some Bowie song that Dennis knows he should recognise.
"Whassat?" He asks from his space on the sofa.
"Can't remember, mate." Gordon tells him with a chuckle, leaning back against the wall, then looks over at him. "So, you're running." He repeats, quietly. "Why? Not for Libby, surely - She told you she didn't care!"
"For Jake. Well... Partly for Jake. Mostly to show that shithead Whit that I'm better than him. Which I am."
"Course you are, mate." Gordon sniggers, shakes his head a little. "Anyway, big day tomorrow!"
"Yeah." Dennis bites his lip a little. Gordon frowns softly, leans the guitar against the wall and goes to sit beside his friend.
"You'll do fine, mate!" He tells him, reassuringly, then puts an arm around his shoulders in a sort of hug.
Dennis smiles, tiredly, rubs his eyes. "Thanks, mate."