Gaz was sitting in a nearby seat, wearing a shirt with “sorry i called you a fucking idiot i was trying to flirt” imprinted on it. He had his arms resting on the armrests, hands clenched into visible fists.

He looked over in your direction, brows furrowing as he studied you for a moment. Then he spoke up.

“So? When do I get to stop wearing this shirt.”

He grumbled, looking away with a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry I called you a ‘fucking idiot’. Happy?”