❛ donna, i . . . ❜ it’s his chance. at long last. his stomach churns at the prospect of unloading his heavy tongue, dropping the bomb; it’s uncharacteristically quiet in the forman basement this evening . . . no fez, no kelso, no jackie ( thank god ), no hyde even, who had become something of a bacterial growth on the basement couch for the last couple of years. no one stirring, not even a mouse . . . and it’s his chance. chance to say what he’s been building up to say nearly his entire childhood. like climbing all the way to the peak of a mountain and getting to the very edge, preparing to take that leap . . . but a piece of cliff crumbles off the side, and he realizes it’s actually really high. like really high . . . good god, would it be enough to kill him?
❛ i, uh . . . ❜ say something, idiot! gaping at her like a freshwater guppy, eyes moon into @phantomewise‘s as though searching for his next line in the blue flexes of her irises. ❛ i just . . . wanted to know if . . . you like . . . biscotti. ch - chocolate? biscotti . . . my mom keeps buyin’ ‘em, and i just keep on eatin’ ‘em, so . . . ❜ eric loves chocolate pinciotti biscotti.
