“So why aren’t you doing your photography thing full time?” Theo asks finally. I eye him, and the flake of bread caught in his chest hair. Disgusting. I want to pick that one up with my finger the most. “Because you can’t just do things,” I say. “It’s not that easy.” One eyebrow raises slowly, like a bridge lifting for a ship. “If anyone can just do things, it’s you, Shepard. You’ve been just doing things as long as I’ve known you.”
