Oh God, yes, please. [The words come out in a rush because holy crap, he's more than ready to move. He gulps the rest of his coffee down with another scrunched up, pained expression and takes a sprig with a grateful hum, shoving the not-quite-mint between his teeth.]
Race you to it? [Come on. He's dying for the exercise.]
no subject
Race you to it? [Come on. He's dying for the exercise.]