Ah, Hell. He would be going there swiftly if things continued at this rate. The poet, as semi-sober as he was, ran a hand down his face to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had a feeling of what this was about. He should of known better.
He had brought another boy around - and he really was just that. A boy. A very angelic, renaissance looking boy that Antony has been writing about for the past few days. He was a new muse. And Theo, he believed, was very jealous, even if he didn’t want to outright and say it.
Antony knocked on the door again.
“Theo, I will go to Hell right after we talk about this, but I would rather do so face to face and not on the other side of a door.”