When in Doubt, Add More Volume
The training room occupied a broad stone chamber beneath the western side of Myrddin Manor, large enough that Josh could cross it at a sprint without immediately finding a wall. Thick timber beams broke up the pale stone overhead, while long enchanted lamps cast clean white light across dark padded flooring interrupted by sections of polished hardwood. One wall was lined with weapon racks holding everything from staffs and training knives to swords, axes, and polearms, with heavier practice weapons secured farther down. Another held wooden dummies, hanging bags, reinforced human-shaped targets, and several scarred training pells that showed generations of use despite repeated repairs. Free weights, benches, mats, and less recognizable pieces of exercise equipment occupied the far end without crowding the open floor in the center. Tall mirrors covered part of one wall for checking form, while the opposite side held a long bench, towels, water, and enough empty space for discarded gear. There were no grand family banners, suits of armor, or decorative trophies trying to make the place impressive. It smelled faintly of wood, leather, steel, and old sweat. This wasn't a room built to show visitors that the Myrddins knew how to fight. It was built because they actually trained here.
It's one thing to say "bless the 80's and their Hong Kong fever", but actually practicing takes it out of you I swear. If I hadn't known some of this from my past life, there would have been no time to learn it all in this one, but turning I know how to do a 1 inch punch into an actual strike, takes A LOT of practice. Luckily I come from a line of warriors, and great grandfather Percival never let that die out in his generation. I swear, this gym is better than ones from my past life. Not to mention it feels like I am making real strides. I don't know if it's just being here rather than there, or if it's this new body, or hell if I was always like this and just never knew it, but the feeling of growth is addictive. I still find myself craving nicotine from time to time, but honestly the high from making my muscles burn is insane.... I think I finally understand those fitness freaks from my past life. Now, lets see what my body can do.
The opening guitar of "All My Life" by Falling in Reverse and Jelly Roll shook the training room.
Not metaphorically.
Bass rolled through the floor beneath Josh's bare feet, strong enough to make the water in his bottle tremble on the bench. The little black music player sitting beside it didn't have anything resembling a speaker, but the sound filled the room anyway. Loud, clear, and heavy enough that he could feel the kick drum in his chest.
Josh's left hand slapped one of the wooden arms aside.
His right fist snapped forward.
Wood cracked against his forearm. His palm struck the center post. He turned from the hips as his other hand rolled beneath the next arm and redirected it past his shoulder.
Josh sang along with Ronnie as he stepped in again.
Pak sau.
Punch.
Tan sau.
Palm.
Bong sau.
Turn.
Three punches snapped down the centerline.
One.
Two.
Three.
The last stopped an inch from the wood.
Reset.
His breathing stayed even.
He moved with the chorus, singing when he felt like it and letting Ronnie and Jelly Roll handle the rest. Another wooden arm met his forearm. His left hand trapped it while his right drove forward. A short kick struck low against the dummy's leg.
The frame shuddered.
Josh stepped back.
Sweat had already darkened the collar and chest of his gray T-shirt. Several strands of crimson hair had escaped the tie at the back of his head and plastered themselves across his forehead.
He shoved them away with his wrist.
The song ended.
For half a second, the room was quiet.
Then the opening of "RATATATA" by BABYMETAL and Electric Callboy exploded through it.
Josh looked toward the player.
"Fuck yeah."
He left the wooden dummy behind.
The next target had arms, legs, a padded torso, and enough reinforcement inside it to survive students considerably larger than Josh.
Usually.
He stepped in.
Palm heel.
Elbow.
Knee.
The dummy folded at the waist.
Josh caught it behind the neck, turned, drove another knee into the padded stomach, released it, and stepped outside.
Low kick.
The weighted support rocked.
He followed.
Two straight punches.
Elbow.
Shoulder.
Grab.
His foot planted behind the dummy's leg.
Turn.
The training dummy slammed onto the mat.
Josh stepped over it.
His foot came down fast.
Stopped.
The sole hovered an inch above its throat.
The music hammered through the floor.
Josh lowered his foot.
He grabbed the dummy by one arm and hauled it upright.
Again.
By the time "Bad Behavior" by Silly Goose took over, sweat was running freely down his face.
Josh didn't slow down.
He shoved the dummy hard enough for the weighted base to rock backward, then waited.
It swung toward him.
He slipped outside the returning arm.
Elbow.
Turn.
Hammer fist.
Knee.
Push.
The target rocked backward again.
Josh followed it.
His breathing had sharpened.
He bounced once on the balls of his feet.
The dummy came back.
Josh met it.
His forearm redirected one padded arm. His other hand struck the face. He caught the neck, drove forward, and buried another knee into the torso.
The song ended.
A familiar guitar riff started.
Josh stopped.
"Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit.
He slowly looked at the dummy.
Its head hung crookedly from the last combination.
Josh looked toward the music player.
Then back at the dummy.
"Fair enough."
He hit it.
The next several minutes were considerably less charitable.
By the time Fred Durst finished encouraging poor decision-making, the dummy was on the floor again with one arm bent somewhere the manufacturer probably hadn't intended.
Josh stood over it with his hands on his hips.
His chest rose and fell.
Sweat dropped from his chin onto the mat.
He nudged the dummy with one foot.
It stayed down.
"Smart."
The music changed again.
This time, the room didn't explode.
The opening of "The Drug in Me Is Reimagined" by Falling in Reverse rolled through it.
Josh walked away from the dummy.
He took a long drink of water, set the bottle down, and moved into the open center of the room.
His feet spread.
His shoulders dropped.
For the first time since he'd entered the training room, he became still.
Then he moved.
Slowly.
One hand rose as the other fell.
His weight shifted onto his rear leg. His waist turned. One foot slid across the mat and settled without a sound.
Josh breathed through his nose.
Ward off.
Roll back.
His hands circled through empty space.
Step.
Press.
His rear heel settled.
Push.
There was no wand in his hand.
No magic gathered around his fingers.
No combat overlay flashed across his vision.
There was nothing between intention and movement except his own body.
His weight shifted.
His waist turned.
His palm shot forward.
Stopped.
Slow again.
Turn.
Step.
Breathe.
Josh never saw the small figure standing in the doorway.
Harry had followed the music.
He stood barefoot just outside the room, glasses sitting slightly crooked across his nose, watching Josh move through something completely different from the beating he'd just given the training dummy.
Harry didn't say anything.
Josh didn't notice him.
The song ended.
Josh remained still for several seconds.
Then his shoulders relaxed.
He crossed the room toward the weapons rack.
His hand passed over several choices before closing around a leather-wrapped grip.
The falchion came free.
Nothing decorated the blade.
No jewels.
No runes.
No enchantments.
Steel. Wood. Leather.
A single cutting edge and enough weight forward of Josh's hand to make itself known.
He rolled his wrist once.
The music player changed tracks.
The opening of "RONALD" by Falling in Reverse, Tech N9ne, and Alex Terrible tore through the room.
Harry jumped.
Josh grinned.
"Now we're talking."
He stepped toward the pell.
The falchion rose.
Josh cut diagonally.
THWACK.
The blade rebounded.
He recovered with it instead of fighting the momentum, stepped past the target, turned, and brought the sword across from the opposite direction.
THWACK.
Reset.
Step.
Cut.
Recover.
Again.
The sword moved faster.
Never wildly.
Every swing had somewhere to go.
Every recovery fed the next movement.
His feet carried him around the pell as the music battered the room around him.
Josh changed guards.
Stepped.
Cut.
THWACK.
His forearms burned.
Again.
His shoulder pulled.
Again.
His lungs worked harder.
Again.
The next strike shifted the pell several inches across the floor.
Josh stopped.
Looked at it.
Dragged it back into position.
Then continued.
Harry had moved inside the room at some point.
He sat against the wall now with his knees pulled up, watching.
Josh still hadn't noticed him.
Eventually, "RONALD" ended.
Josh lowered the falchion.
His shirt clung to his back. His hair was soaked around the edges. His arms felt heavy, his breathing was deep, and the restless energy that had driven him into the training room had finally started to burn itself out.
He returned the falchion to the rack.
The player shuffled.
A clean guitar filled the room.
Josh reached for his water.
Then stopped.
"The Reason" by Hoobastank.
The bottle made it halfway to his mouth.
Josh stared at the player.
"No."
The song continued.
"Not fucking today."
Skip.
The opening of "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park replaced it.
Josh's eyes narrowed.
"Really?"
Skip.
"Popular Monster" by Falling in Reverse.
Josh slowly lowered the bottle.
He stared at the little black box.
"You're feeling judgmental today."
Skip.
A few seconds later, Ronnie Radke started singing "Voices in My Head."
Josh blinked.
"Fuck. Off."
Skip.
The player obediently changed songs.
For approximately two seconds.
Then Linkin Park came through the room again.
Josh turned toward it.
"Are you fucking serious?"
A small noise came from behind him.
Josh froze.
Not an alarm.
Not a threat.
A laugh.
He turned.
Harry immediately tried to stop smiling.
He failed.
Josh stared at him.
Harry stared back.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
Harry glanced toward the battered training dummy.
Then the wooden dummy.
Then the sword rack.
Then back at Josh.
"A while."
Josh looked at the music player.
He looked at Harry.
He looked down at himself.
"Well."
Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"What was the one with all the screaming?"
Josh's mouth twitched.
"You're gonna have to narrow that down, little man."
Harry thought about that.
"The really angry one."
"That did not narrow it down."
Harry's smile finally broke through, and Josh couldn't help joining him. Not the little breath through the nose he'd been passing off as a laugh lately, either. An actual laugh that left him shaking his head as he reached for his water.
"Okay, you're going to have to help me out here. Was it the one playing while I had the sword?"
Harry nodded. "That one."
"RONALD." Josh took a drink and gestured toward the music player with the bottle. "You could've just said the sword one."
"I didn't know what it was called."
"Fair point."
Harry's attention shifted toward the little black box on the bench. "Can you play it again?"
Josh raised an eyebrow. Of all the songs Harry had apparently overheard, that was the one he wanted another round of? Interesting taste for a ten-year-old. "Sure."
A thought was enough to restart "RONALD" by Falling in Reverse, Tech N9ne, and Alex Terrible, and the opening ripped through the room at almost the same volume as before. Harry jumped despite knowing something was coming, which earned a grin from Josh.
"You made it louder."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You did."
"Baseless accusations from a man who can't prove anything." Josh relented and nudged the volume down a little. Harry gave him a look over the top of his crooked glasses, and Josh pointed the water bottle at him. "Careful. You're getting judgmental too."
Harry settled against the wall again, although his attention wandered from the music toward the weapons rack. "Do you know how to use all of those?"
"Some better than others." Josh followed his gaze along the collection. "I've had more practice with swords and staffs than some of the other stuff."
"What about what you were doing before?"
"Depends which part you mean. The wooden dummy was Wing Chun. The one I beat half to death was mostly Krav Maga. The slow stuff was Tai Chi."
Harry frowned. "The slow one was fighting?"
"It can be. Going slowly lets you practice where everything is supposed to be without throwing yourself across the room every time you screw up. You learn the movement first, then worry about doing it faster."
Harry seemed to accept that, but only for a moment. He unfolded himself from the floor and looked toward the battered humanoid dummy. "Can you teach me?"
Josh looked from Harry to the dummy and back again. The kid was barefoot, undersized for his age, and had been out of Privet Drive for less than a day. Teaching him how to knee someone in the liver could probably wait until at least tomorrow. "Eventually. Right now, you're starting with the boring part."
"What's the boring part?"
"Learning how to stand."
Harry looked down at himself. "I know how to stand."
"That's what everybody thinks. Come here."
Harry crossed the mat immediately, and Josh had him spread his feet before shifting one slightly behind the other. Harry went too wide, corrected too far in the other direction, then bent his knees until he looked like he was preparing to sit on an invisible chair. Josh adjusted him a little at a time, tapping one foot into place before straightening his shoulders.
"Better. Keep your knees loose. You don't want them locked if somebody pushes you."
Harry looked unconvinced, so Josh gave his shoulder a light shove. Harry immediately stumbled sideways, catching himself after two steps and turning around with an offended expression.
"Hey!"
"Demonstration." Josh waved him back into position. "Set your feet again."
Harry did, this time paying considerably more attention. Josh nudged him from the same direction. Harry shifted, but his feet stayed underneath him.
The irritation disappeared. "Oh."
"There's the light bulb."
Harry reset without being told and raised his hands, making fists that immediately drew Josh's attention. His right thumb had disappeared beneath his curled fingers.
"Hold up. Fix your thumb before you break it."
Harry looked at his hand. "How?"
Josh showed him, curling his own fingers and laying his thumb across the outside. "Like this. If you trap it inside your fist and hit something hard, you're going to hurt yourself a lot more than whoever you punched."
Harry copied him, examining the result before looking back up. "Like that?"
"Yep. Now punch."
The first attempt was terrible. Harry threw his shoulder forward, bent his wrist, and nearly pulled himself off balance trying to put his entire body into the movement. Josh caught his arm before he could repeat it.
"Okay, we're gonna call that a diagnostic punch."
"Was it bad?"
"It gave me a lot of useful information."
Harry stared at him.
"Yes, it was bad."
That got a reluctant smile, and Josh moved beside him to demonstrate. He kept it simple, showing Harry how to keep his wrist straight and let his hip turn instead of hurling his shoulder forward. Harry tried again, then again, improving enough on the fourth attempt that Josh nodded.
"Better. Keep doing that and eventually we'll let you fight something that fights back."
Harry glanced toward the damaged training dummy. "That didn't fight back."
"Not after the first twenty minutes."
Harry looked at the arm hanging at an angle. "You broke it."
Josh followed his gaze and grimaced. "Yeah. Didn't actually mean to do that."
"Were you angry?"
"A little."
"At it?"
That earned Harry a sideways look. "No. Pretty sure the dummy is innocent."
Harry thought about that while Josh retrieved his towel and wiped the sweat from his face. The music continued hammering away behind them, apparently no longer important enough to hold either one's attention.
"Who were you angry at?"
Josh stopped with the towel against the back of his neck.
That should have been an easy question.
It wasn't.
There were several names he could've given Harry. A couple organizations. At least one government. Himself probably belonged somewhere on the list. The problem was that none of them covered all of it, and trying to figure out which one deserved the top spot sounded exhausting.
Josh pulled the towel free and draped it over his shoulder. "Been a long week, little man."
Harry looked down at his hands and adjusted his thumb the way Josh had shown him. "Me too."
"Yeah."
Nothing else really needed saying about that.
They stood there for a few seconds with the music filling the space between them before Harry glanced toward the player again.
"Can you play the screaming one again?"
Josh stared at him. "You just listened to it."
"I liked it."
Well, shit.
Josh considered the kid standing in front of him, then the music player, and finally the training dummy he'd apparently beaten hard enough to require actual repairs.
There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.
"Fuck it. Sure."
The opening hit the room again, slightly quieter this time, and Harry's grin widened before the first scream had even finished rolling across the stone.
Josh shook his head and headed for the bench. "Of all the shit you could've picked."
"I like it."
"I'm not judging."
Harry glanced at him.
Josh grabbed his water. "Okay, I'm judging a little."
Harry laughed and dropped back onto the mat while Josh started gathering his things. The song rolled into the next without either of them paying much attention to what the player chose. Harry occasionally asked about something he heard. Josh answered when he knew the answer, made something up when the real explanation involved thirty years that hadn't happened yet, and discovered somewhere along the way that Harry had absolutely no objection to loud guitars.
That was useful information.
Potentially dangerous information, but useful.
Picking up directly from the current endpoint, with the music becoming background instead of another playlist sequence.
Harry stayed on the mat while Josh finished the rest of his water and started putting the room back into something resembling order. The falchion was already where it belonged, but the towel went into a hamper near the bench, the water bottle disappeared into his inventory when Harry wasn't looking, and the training dummy remained sprawled across the floor with its arm twisted at an angle that made Josh increasingly certain he'd broken something expensive.
He crouched beside it and tried working the arm back into place. Something inside clicked, scraped, then stopped hard enough that he decided applying more strength would probably turn a repair job into a replacement. "Yeah, Percival's gonna notice that."
Harry leaned sideways to get a better look. "Will you get in trouble?"
"Probably not." Josh gave the arm one last experimental pull before letting it drop. "He might make me fix it, though."
"Can you?"
Josh looked at the dummy, then at Harry. "Absolutely."
Harry waited.
"Eventually."
That earned another laugh. Josh left the thing where it was and stood, rolling one shoulder until something popped. The workout was catching up with him now that he'd stopped moving. His arms felt heavy, his legs had that pleasant rubbery feeling that came after actually pushing them, and somewhere beneath the sweat and exhaustion his entire body seemed to be humming.
The music changed again. Josh didn't recognize what shuffle had chosen until the guitar kicked in, and Harry listened for several seconds before wrinkling his nose.
"Do you have anything that isn't angry?"
Josh turned slowly. "Excuse me?"
"Most of your music sounds angry."
"I have plenty of music that isn't angry."
Harry looked toward the player.
Josh followed his gaze. "Don't."
Neither of them moved.
Shuffle apparently took that personally.
"Duality" by Slipknot started.
Harry's smile appeared almost immediately.
Josh stared at the player. "Circumstantial evidence."
"You said you had other music."
"I do."
"That sounds angry."
"That's because you lack appreciation for the finer points of musical expression."
Harry's smile widened. "It sounds like screaming."
"Lots of things sound like screaming when you don't understand them."
Harry looked at him.
Josh frowned. "That sounded smarter in my head."
Harry laughed, and Josh gave up on shuffle before the damn thing could make the situation worse. A thought moved through the player, cutting Slipknot off and replacing it with the much slower opening of "The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie" by Colter Wall.
"There. Not angry."
Harry listened as Josh dropped onto the bench beside the player. After the wall of guitars and screaming they'd been listening to, the sudden change made the training room feel almost unnaturally quiet.
"This sounds old."
Josh snorted. "Careful."
"Is it?"
"Depends who you're asking."
Harry considered that answer for a moment before apparently deciding it wasn't worth pursuing. He stretched his legs out across the mat and leaned back on his hands instead.
Josh's stomach growled.
Loudly.
Harry's head turned.
Josh looked down at his stomach. "Traitor."
"When did you eat?"
"Breakfast."
Harry stared at him.
Josh caught the expression immediately. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're about to say."
"You missed lunch."
"I was busy."
Harry continued staring.
Josh opened his mouth, ready with at least three perfectly reasonable arguments, and then his brain finally caught up with who he was arguing with.
He closed it again.
Harry waited.
"Okay, in retrospect, defending skipped meals to you may not have been my strongest rhetorical decision."
Harry's brow furrowed. "What does rhetorical mean?"
"Means I'm hungry. Come on."
"That's not what it means."
"Look at you, ten minutes of martial arts training and you're already questioning your instructor. Terrible student."
Harry climbed to his feet. "You said it was five minutes."
"That was before you started arguing."
Josh grabbed the music player from the bench and started toward the door. Harry followed, but the moment Josh stepped into the corridor he became considerably more aware of the state he was in. His shirt was soaked through, his hair was sticking to his neck and forehead, and he could smell himself now that he wasn't surrounded by leather, wood, and several generations of accumulated gym funk.
He stopped.
Harry nearly walked into him. "What?"
Josh looked down at himself. "Change of plans. I smell like ass."
Harry immediately laughed.
"Kitchen first anyway. If I shower now, I'm going to get distracted, forget I'm hungry, and somebody will find me three hours from now doing something stupid."
"Like breaking another dummy?"
Josh pointed at him. "You're getting mouthy."
Harry looked entirely too pleased with himself.
They continued through the Manor with the music player following along at a volume considerably more appropriate for hallways. Josh switched the song before they reached the stairs, settling on Johnny Cash and leaving it there. Harry didn't complain, which Josh decided counted as another point in the kid's favor.
The kitchen at Myrddin Manor was quiet when they reached it, which suited Josh perfectly. He had no idea where Percival or Jack had wandered off to, and at that particular moment he didn't care enough to go looking. Food first. Shower second. Then he could decide whether the rest of the day deserved his attention.
Johnny Cash followed them through the doorway at a low enough volume to qualify as background noise. Josh crossed directly toward the section of the kitchen devoted to food storage and opened one of the magically preserved compartments. Cool air rolled across his arms, carrying the smell of tomato sauce, cheese, and pepperoni.
Josh stopped.
"Oh, hell yes."
Harry came around beside him to see what had earned that reaction. A large pepperoni pizza waited inside on a wooden tray, several slices already missing but the rest looking like it had come out of the oven minutes ago. The cheese was still melted, the crust still crisp around the edges, and little pools of grease shimmered across the pepperoni.
Josh pulled the tray free. "Pizza?"
Harry nodded immediately. "Yeah."
"Good answer."
Three years.
Three years of determined resistance, repeated complaints, recipe requests, occasional demonstrations, and outright refusal to accept that beans belonged anywhere near breakfast had finally produced results. The culinary revolution had been long and difficult, but the American delegation had prevailed.
Mostly.
Josh set the pizza on the large wooden table and went back to investigate what else had survived lunch. Another compartment produced several cheeseburgers wrapped in paper, still warm enough that the cheese stretched when he checked one, along with a bowl of chips and several bottles of coke.
Now that was civilization.
"You want pizza or a burger?"
Harry looked between them. "Can I have both?"
Josh turned toward him.
Harry's expression immediately became uncertain. "Or just pizza."
"No, no. I'm just proud." Josh grabbed another plate. "Both is absolutely an option."
Harry smiled and took a seat while Josh loaded two slices onto his plate, added one of the burgers, and slid it across the table. He did roughly the same for himself, except his definition of two slices became three somewhere between the tray and his chair.
Johnny Cash continued playing from the little black box after Josh set it near the middle of the table. Harry looked at it again before picking up his first slice.
"Where did you get that?"
Josh bit into his burger.
Of course.
He'd known that question was coming eventually. He'd just hoped eventually meant sometime after he'd figured out a better answer.
Josh chewed, swallowed, and reached for his coke. "Made it."
Harry looked at the player. "You made that?"
"Mostly."
"How?"
"Alchemy."
That wasn't entirely bullshit.
Probably.
Josh had only possessed the thing for a few hours, and explaining that it contained music from a life Harry didn't know Josh had lived, including songs that wouldn't be written for more than thirty years, presented several obvious complications.
Harry leaned closer to inspect it. "What does alchemy have to do with music?"
"Well, the alchemy is more in the making of the player itself." Josh said, examining the magical mp3 player. I am not about to tell him the trick is having a 30 plus year musical library in my head. Josh thought, before taking a drink of the coke "The player is linked to my mind, and can play music that fits my mood. It can play existing songs, or make new ones that fit the theme based off of songs that are already there, or at least that is the simplified version of it."
Harry looked impressed.
That was dangerous.
"Can you make other things like it?"
Josh paused with his burger halfway to his mouth. "Probably."
"You don't know?"
"It's experimental."
Harry frowned. "What if it explodes?"
Josh slowly lowered his burger.
That was actually a really good question.
He looked at the player.
The player continued playing Johnny Cash with complete innocence.
"Then I suppose we'll have learned something important."
Harry stared at him.
"I'm kidding."
"Are you?"
"Mostly."
Harry shook his head and returned to his pizza.
Josh grinned and did the same.
For the next several minutes, they ate without much conversation. Not awkward silence. Just food, music, and the occasional scrape of a plate across the table. Josh demolished his burger before moving on to the pizza, and somewhere around his second slice his body apparently remembered that he'd spent the better part of an hour beating the hell out of training equipment. Hunger went from noticeable to ravenous almost immediately.
Harry wasn't exactly taking his time either.
Josh noticed.
Then deliberately didn't make anything of it.
Instead, he reached for another slice before Harry could.
Harry looked at him.
"What?"
"That was the last pepperoni."
Josh looked at the slice in his hand.
Then at the tray.
Then back at Harry.
"Law of the jungle, little man."
"You already had three."
"I'm bigger than you."
"That's not fair."
"Life lesson."
Harry reached across the table and grabbed half of Josh's untouched cheeseburger.
Josh stared at his hand.
Harry took a bite.
The little shit maintained eye contact while he did it.
Josh slowly nodded.
"Okay."
Harry chewed.
"I respect the commitment."
That smile appeared again.
Josh leaned back in his chair and took a drink, feeling the first real edge of exhaustion settle over him. His arms were sore. His shoulders were sore. His legs were starting to stiffen. He smelled terrible, Harry had just stolen half his burger, and Johnny Cash was singing from a magical music player that absolutely should not exist in 1991.
For once, none of that required fixing.
Harry finished chewing and pointed toward the player. "Can you put the loud music back on?"
Josh looked at him over the top of his bottle. "While we're eating?"
Harry shrugged. "I liked it."
"You're going to regret giving me that information."
"Why?"
Josh reached toward the player, then stopped.
"You know what? You'll find out."
He changed the music, keeping the volume low enough that they could still talk, and Harry went back to eating like this was perfectly normal.
Maybe for him it would be.
That thought tried to go somewhere.
Josh didn't let it.
Not right now.
He had pizza, music, and a shower waiting for him upstairs. Whatever collection of bullshit had accumulated over the last week would still be there when he was clean and no longer hungry.
For the moment, this was enough.