“You’re not worried that Jake’s going to break his neck?” Foggy asks, finishing his mimosa and immediately refilling his glass.
They’re having brunch and Matt and Jake are parkouring on some Brooklyn rooftops–or Matt is parkouring. If Foggy knows anything, Jake is probably just yelling parkour a lot.
“Not really,” Amy says, smiling fondly. “I’m pretty sure he’ll sprain his ankle and be really proud of it and never try this again.”
“You’re lucky,” Foggy says, laughing. “Matt just gets more eager with each stab wound.”
“How many stab wounds are we talking?” Amy asks, wincing.
“Too many,” Foggy says. “And, at this point, I’m fine with admitting that my concept of too many is more than ten.”
“Yeesh,” Amy says, emphatically.
“Speaking of stab wounds,” Foggy says, pointing at her. “You seem like the type of person who knows things about getting stains out of other things.”
“Yeah, hold on,” she says, grinning before she turns around to get her bag. “I’ve actually got a binder.”
oh my god, they were roommates 