Taras sidestepped the arc of the thrown keys, letting them sail past his head without trying to grab them. They hit the tiled floor with a clatter of metal behind him.
"Don't need them," he said, to Liadov's back.
The set of Liadov's shoulders was stiff. He gave no sign of having heard.
After a moment, Taras' expression tightened.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he growled.
He stepped away from the desk, following Liadov toward the door.
"Are you looking for excuses to hate him? I didn't think there was a way you could think less of him."
no subject
"Don't need them," he said, to Liadov's back.
The set of Liadov's shoulders was stiff. He gave no sign of having heard.
After a moment, Taras' expression tightened.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he growled.
He stepped away from the desk, following Liadov toward the door.
"Are you looking for excuses to hate him? I didn't think there was a way you could think less of him."