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Summary
On the last Friday of every month, we go on a date. A proper date. Baz chooses a ridiculous restaurant with candles and white tablecloths and an ungodly amount of cutlery. Baz dresses me up and I have to behave.
So, that’s his end of the deal. My end of the deal is much more fun. My end of the deal is that when we get home, we get to destroy the suits. And the flat. And each other.
My end of the deal is, if Baz gets to pick dinner, then I get to pick dessert.
