Chapter Text
David doesn’t talk to himself all the time. If he’s in a really good mood, or a really bad mood, mostly. He’ll idly sing-song or he’ll grimly mutter, respectively. Today he’s brightly scolding. He was flipping through another of the motel’s ancient (okay not that old) magazines and found, to his uncomfortable surprise, a photo of himself.
He was on some red carpet or other, attached to the arm of one of his higher-profile ex-nothings, and he was giving the dazzling but strenuously controlled smile of someone who needed the world to know he was happy, successful, loved. So he gives a sharp laugh- “Don’t give me that look!” And then a soft murmur through a sympathetic smile for his past self- “You don’t know a thing.”