[At length, his eyes slide open again, and it's his turn to look distant and hazy as he takes in the whole sight of him: messy face, soap lather still clinging to his hair, pretty and damp on his knees in this cramped bath in a terrible apartment.]
Second to none.
[He says it breathlessly, then taps the underside of Abbacchio's chin.]
C'mon. You've — mmmn, you've more than earned your treat.
no subject
Second to none.
[He says it breathlessly, then taps the underside of Abbacchio's chin.]
C'mon. You've — mmmn, you've more than earned your treat.