[Fugo looks up at the sound of Bruno's knock. He's sitting crosslegged in the middle of his bed, with a large book of crosswords spread in front of him. Rather than writing on the pages directly, he's got a piece of graph paper laid over top the puzzle and is using a pen and ruler to recreate it on something a little less permanent. There's a mug within reach on his night stand, filling the room with a warm and gingery smell. He smiles, brief and and crooked, before venturing:]
no subject
Having a good birthday?