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    Summary

    Ten hours he’d been gone at work, and Childe couldn’t even spare him a nod. He held the Dr. Pepper out in front of him, and Childe’s gaze flicked to it as he mouthed the words, ‘open it’. Scara’s eye twitched.

    He had nothing better to do than play his stupid little games on the stupid computer that Scara had paid for and sit in that stupid chair and stuff his face with the stupid food that Scara bought him every week. Logically, he should be furious. He shouldn’t put up with this; he should put his foot down and demand that Childe take care of his own damn self for once.

    Instead, he cracked open the soda and set it on the desk.

    Language:
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