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    Summary

    The small shimmer in Verity’s concave, beady eyes shifted, and Mob knew, mouth flooded with saliva and bile, that he was reading the signs around the room.

    Mob stuffed his hand in his hair and ran it through his locs when a deep hum roared from within Verity’s chest. He flinched.

    “Okay, so I don’t have an excuse. I- I don’t care if you liked Twixxel or not, okay, he was - is - my best friend! Dead or not, I would choose him over you any freaking day!”

    Or; Mob is violated again, and he forgives, ad nauseam.

    Language:
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