Left my heart in rocky hill [p, Michael]

[OCTANE.]

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OCTANE

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OCTAVIO SILVA
High-Speed Daredevil
AFRICAN CHEETAH
TYPHOON
"Ooh, sick death, dude!"

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Octane doesn't know what's wrong with him, or if he did, it was a conversation he wasn't ready to have. His therapy sessions made that much clear. He couldn't remember all the details of their conversations. It had been too long, he could remember talking for hours on end about his dad and his maids, about doing stunts and all his rabbits. He couldn't remember the conversations though, and especially not everything she said. Whatever it was though, something about how his stunts were a vie for attention, pissed him off and he stopping going. 

Octane's ears tilt back, leaning back at Michael's words. "That's what I don't understand Mike," his legs bounce, tapping against wood. He adjusts his weight to one hip, legs scrapping together in a horrible scratching noise. "Are you just... better at acting normal?" Maybe that's a genuine question- Octane was always one to lay his soul bear. His "Ride or Die" attitude extended into basic conversation. He didn't need to hear about Michael's day, he needed to hear about what fucked up shit he did before he got here.

"I don't think I've done anything, that's the problem," He racks through his head, trying to think. "At least, I don't think I have-" His memory is so shit sometimes. That's why he needed to be taught same damn lesson over and over. "I mean, have I? I don't think I've done anything here yet to be... you know, left out."

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Original code by lexasperated / artwork by @R_HillPrime