“Donnelly, that’s for you, by the way. Just as payment for the design. I have cash for the actual tattoo.” He’s in arm’s reach and stretches. Grabbing a burnt orange sweater, a green alien peace sign stitched in the middle. “Sick. Did you make this?” “Yeah, I knitted it.” Luna shrugs. Donnelly pulls the sweater over his head. It stops well above his belly-button. He smirks and leans back on the beanbag. “Fits perfect.”
