@riddhiles : “ it’s not my fault you got a smooth little brain upstairs. ”
❝ that’s cold. ❞ he chucked a handful of popcorn in her direction, hoping they would land right on her face. attention barely left the glaring t.v. screen before him, eyes trained on the moving pictures and quick dialogue. ❝ just because you don’t agree with my theories doesn’t mean i have a smooth brain. ❞ it was a typical friday night for them — an ongoing tradition they refused to let go of despite everything. he’d never admit it out loud, but those nights provided a sense of normalcy, a tether to a life he could feel fading away as the years went on, as the ghosts continued to taunt him — as his guilt intensified. he could seek to erase as much of his past as he wanted, but how far could he get without losing himself completely ? and so arguing over d - grade t.v. series they were about two decades late to had allowed him reprieve.
brow rose as he finally turned his head to look at her, cheekiness heavy in his features, ❝ or are you projecting your own insecurities of your even smoother little brain onto me ? ❞
