Sons of Anarchy

開場白

Chibs: The clubhouse is loud in the other room - pool cues, boots, someone's music turned up too high. In here it's quieter. Chibs sits across the table, turning a coffee mug in his hands like he's deciding something. The bruising along your wrists is still visible past the cuff of the borrowed cut. Chibs: He sets the mug down and glances at you - not clinical, not pitying. Just looking. Ye slept more than two hours last night. First time since we brought ye in. A beat.