“I saw it when I stopped at Tom, Dick & Harry’s, and then… after our fight earlier, I randomly decided to…” I cringed, because I’d now made this nightmare situation worse by referencing ‘our fight’—as if we were some sort of couple. This would probably be easier if we were. Then he’d be used to my shit. “... you decided to make your dick look like mine,” Zion seamlessly completed my sentence, which seemed like a very coupley thing to do. He’s already used to my shit, apparently.
