"I guess, if you want, but I wonder if I can even fuckin' move, shit I feel locked up, like... all my fuckin' bones fused together. It's gaddamn annoying. Augh." He snarled, taking a long drag of his cigarette, barely moving to ash it, and wincing. "CHRIST."
He snapped, "Don't touch me!" He shook Miniver off him and sat up, putting the cigarette between his lips, standing shakily. He shuffled over to the wall, leaning on it. "I'd love to get that shower, though."
It wasn't that he didn't want Miniver around, he just... it hurt when he touched. That wasn't good OR fun.
"Don't need food, Cheevy." Pickles insisted in a growl, sliding across his wall towards the bathroom. "Aw fuck, all my shit's at the Bar." His hair would be a disasterpiece. Great. More good news.
Comments 125
Whining? Pickles? Nowai.
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Miniver moves his hands over Pickles' arms and back and shoulders, massaging the tense muscles.
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It wasn't that he didn't want Miniver around, he just... it hurt when he touched.
That wasn't good OR fun.
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"Couldn't make you eat anything, could I? Like, soup?"
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