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β β β β β β β β π΄π¬π«'π± π£π’π’π© π
β β β β β β β β π±π₯π¦π«π€. . . . β
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Sigh. . . .
Same shit, different day.
He's grown so numb to this, he forgot that being covered in blood is considered alarming to other people. . . .π§
". . . ."
He looks down at her hand, his heart sinking. . . . but he just puts his other hand over hers with a weak smile.
". . . .thank you. . . ."
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Macintosh, for the first time in quite a while, smiled genuinely. It was almost like a light was visible through his dark look.
"I'm glad. I used to make em especially for my son. . . . I was afraid I got a little rusty,"
His smile grew a little sad, but he was pretty happy.
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A much needed smoke break. . . .
He's been feeling a little. . . . lonely.
Maybe he really does need to get back in the saddle. . . . but he doesn't know if he can go through with it. . . .
. . . .π
He smiles softly, getting another chip and feeding it to her.
"You seem to like these. . . ."
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. . . . so cute-
He places the chip carefully in their mouth,
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"Good. . . .?"
He asks, cocking his head to the side a little. Even though he was expressionless, his eyes carried a small twinkle of joy.
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He carefully places the chip in her mouth.
". . . ."
He seems a little pleased.
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β³No bc I'm itching to write dominant Macintosh π€²π»π€²π»π€²π»π€²π»
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". . ."
He just sits next to the reader.
He wants to try and take some advice and. . . make some friends. . .
. . . but he doesn't know how to talk to people. . .
He's walking around the grocery store, looking a little troubled.
He got a little sick of being a depressed single guy cliche and having no real food in his house, but he doesn't know what to get. . . . he hasn't cooked in a long time. . . .
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