You are biased. [It's all he says, and in a mild tone, but he follows after him until he gets to the stairs, and instead slips into the restroom. He brushes his hair out neatly-- it really didn't need much, but he's particular. He straightens himself in the mirror, and struggles to actually look at himself, focusing on his vest, his hair, avoiding his face entirely.]
[He waits at the bottom of the stairs, his own wallet having never left the pocket of his khakis.]
no subject
[He waits at the bottom of the stairs, his own wallet having never left the pocket of his khakis.]