❛     𝗡𝗢  𝗢𝗡𝗘  𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗦  𝗧𝗢  𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞  𝗧𝗢  𝗠𝗘    .  .  .    no  one  wants  to  tell  me  what  they  saw.     &&   like   i   GET   it  ,   but  it’s  getting   so   hard  to  pretend.   ❜

         ❛   𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘  𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬  𝗡𝗢𝗧   supposed  to  be  in  here.   ❜      ----     ❛   . . .  but  who  am  i  to  tell  you  what  to  do ?    ❜

            ❛     𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 ?    do  you  think  i  can’t   handle   your  secrets?   as  if   you  could  handle  even   one   of  mine.   ❜

——— furrowing brows at the wolf-head on the wall, peter noted toward the trophy mount using the lip of his beer bottle as replacement for his pointer. the modern-day version of hunting, to him, was laughable. men sitting around in their little huts with their big guns. a commentary on egos, he thought.                           ❝ you ever seen one of those in real life?  ❞

he, of course, had. but sitting here, feeling oddly out of his comfort zone, it was the only thing he could think of to start a conversation that had any remote significance - that, and didn’t start with nice shoes.  ❝ they’re not as… impactful when they’re hung on a wall. ❞

𝗔  𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗗  𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗦  𝗦𝗛𝗘'𝗦  𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗡  𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦  𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘.    or  at  least  it  feels  that  way.   she’s  stopped  keeping  count.   why  ,   the  very   THOUGHT   of  dwelling  on  how   many  times   it’s  been’s  enough  to  drive  a  drill  through  any  sense  of  sanity.