She fingers his jacket. The same long, dingy jacket that looks like overripe corn he always wears. The same jacket that she's imagined herself sneaking inside more times than she can number. Her thumbs slide up the collar, and once they reach their limits she slips her hands inside.
no subject
"Y'don't get any favors."
She fingers his jacket. The same long, dingy jacket that looks like overripe corn he always wears. The same jacket that she's imagined herself sneaking inside more times than she can number. Her thumbs slide up the collar, and once they reach their limits she slips her hands inside.
"Y'hafta earn it."