You sayin’ I’m a shitty friend, dickwad. Gah— [ he squirms in Richie’s hold, bumping that hand with his head, but it’s half-hearted enough that he ends up patting Richie’s arm (his arm! his brain screeches traitorously). God, he needs to write in a diary and burn set it alight, like every other teenager with a stupid crush. ]
Crisis averted, right? Can I go make my lunch now?
no subject
Crisis averted, right? Can I go make my lunch now?