[He's not in the mood to open his mouth and snipe back at her, because who knows what awful singing might happen as a result, so instead he keeps his mouth shut and only starts to absently play with her hair, letting his fingers gently stroke the nape of her neck.
It's not torture, not really, but he hopes that it at least makes her think twice about wanting to write anything. Squinting, he smirks at the message on the phone, reaching over for it.
Though, given his comfort with technology, this will take a while.]
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It's not torture, not really, but he hopes that it at least makes her think twice about wanting to write anything. Squinting, he smirks at the message on the phone, reaching over for it.
Though, given his comfort with technology, this will take a while.]
Did we decide if was my mouth? Did I miss that?