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whistling softly to himself in the break room, half—lidded gaze trained solely on the cheap microwave meal currently rotating in said machine . . . yum.
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deadpanning for the most part, though he can’t help the subtle wince that flickers across features.
‘ yeah, okay—— i don’t think you can count that one. ’
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oh, i don’t just think, i * know i could get you a second time. maybeeee watch out for the sipping hazard this time, though ——— otherwise you’ll be down two teeth.
and suit yourself. prude.
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that was … / one / time, asshole. what makes you think you can get me a second time? i am a tick away from setting your little flat ass on fire.
and no. i do not wish to hear such disgusting details, blegh blegh bleghhhhhhh.