Chapter Text
"I'm choosing my reward, right?"
"I'd say you earned that." There's not a lot to choose, though.
"I want to smell something." Zoe stares at the tray of stale pastries. "French toast."
He's jok—
"Right out of the oven, with warm syrup."
—serious. Excited.
"I meant you could…" She goes for a donut but doesn't get that far, "They let you smell French toast?"
He's suddenly sheepish. "It was our," he winces, "my… When I'd miss…"
She doesn't know how to process this. "Just smell?"
Dylan tenses, sags, "Just smell," then shoves a donut in his mouth.
Anger. That's how.
