Valentine 1

Evil glanced at his watch. Christ. It was almost eight. V expected dinner at some fancy-schmancy joint where the miat r de was more evil than he was, if that was ever a possible thing.

Twenty minutes blew by. Evil hoped V was still fretting over what dress to wear. He prayed for her curling iron to explode, some disaster to delay the impending confession. Yes, he'd rather take V to the emergency room than have to come up with a dandy of an excuse as to why he was such an asshole and couldn't l...