Quick and dirty thought on the absurdity of it all.
There's a strange, pure quality to the smell of blood in the freezing cold. A special, unindentifiable thing to the purest white in nature meeting the purest red.
Only in part was that why Gord had stopped trying to stem his bloody nose.
"You have to admit, it is pretty funny. In a 'you deserved that' kinda way." Jimmy snickered.
He pouted, only to Jimmy's further amusement.
"Certainly it's funny from your end." He wiggled closer but looked further away. "I do hope you intend to replace my sweater?"
"Oh come on, there's not even any blood on it."
"You tore a seam."
"What, you trust-fund-fairies can't sew?" Jimmy turned Gord's face to look at him, wiping at his nose with a jacket sleeve and pinching the bridge.
"Would you stop calling me that?"
"Will you stop calling me a pauper?"
"I have!"
"Not in front of the other fairies."
"But that's different."
Somehow it got dropped from there.
"We still cool for Janitor Massacre Sunday?"
"I should think not."
"Don't be a little bitch, I didn't get you any worse than you got me."
"You could've broken my nose. Who would have me then?"
"I would. Now stop crying."
He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy, and got an awkwardly angled kiss for his suspicions.