“You’re a brain box,” I teased. “Do you know that?” “I am,” he agreed. “It’s like whoa in my head all the time.” “That’s because you’re so smart,” I reassured him. “You’re always thinking.” “Hmm.” “What’s the hmm about?” “I’m not smart with you,” he slurred. “It goes away when I’m with you.” “Is that bad?” “It’s so fucking good,” he groaned. “I just… Fuck, I need to stop talking.” “No, keep talking,” I coaxed, curious. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
