📬 @edwinoutoufhell asked:
"this isn't what it looks like."
📨[ prompts for talking yourself out of something ]📨
Charles had tried, he really had, but losing the thirty-year streak of Edwin's undivided attention made it hard to play nice. He knew he was being unreasonable, and stubborn, and jealous—he bit his lip hard to stop that train of thought, the figures of two dead jocks alongside David the Demon looming in his mind. You're a good sort of chap, he recited in his mind. Count to ten and talk to your best mate like you still got your wits about you.
"Yeah? 'Cause from where I'm standin', it looks like you're skipping off with that new wanker while the rest of us have the casework pile up," he snapped before he could stop himself, yellow streetlight making his eyes gleam. "What's with you today, mate? Trying to prove a point or something, yeah?"
Well. Should've counted to twenty, then, maybe.
