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Summary
Noah's always been a pessimist- he can't help it, really. He's pretty sure its his birthright; synicism was carved into his bones and etched into his brain. Its just how he is.
However, this was one of the only times where he's sure he wasn't just exaggerating.
2 months? With his rival? In the same room? Every day?
It would've been easier for fate to have just shot him in his juggular and lay him rotting in a ditch. Though, that wouldn't be quite as entertaining, would it?
