DETONATE.

delighted, dio takes their hand, slowly enough that if they wanted to pull away, it’d be very easy. ‘ do you like milkshakes? we could go get a milkshake. ‘

They don’t let go, despite the way their eyes narrow at the contact. Holding hands isn’t particularly enjoyable, but it’s no bother. 

he:

Tock does not see the mouse scuttle over her moccasin. She puts down the casserole and the groceries and kneels down. “You fuckin numbskull. You’re such a fuckin’ numbskull all the goddamn time.” Out of her sock she retrieves a box-cutter. “You’re touched in the head.” Cutting into the upholstery and tearing out chunks of sponge. “You’re fucked. You fuckin’ numbskull. You bozo. You dumbass dickwad with a numbskull face.”

Catching a glimpse of the blade, Sahara’s eyes widen. It’s sharp and pointy and there’s something about a bright room and a constant beeping, then they’re asleep and awake and asleep and awake and hot, hot, hot ---

But it only digs into the sofa, and they forget about the boxcutter with a blink. There’s a wide, toothy grin while the weight of the cushion dissipates, and they find themselves able to wriggle free. Although Sahara doesn’t quite grasp the concept of a numbskull, they know fuck, and it just makes them grin wider.