She must hear the longing in my tone, all the longing and desperate need, because her voice grows worried. “Are you okay?” I answer truthfully. “No.” Her voice rises. “What’s wrong?” “I left something in California.” “What?” “My heart, baby. My cold, dead, worthless heart, which didn’t even beat before I met you.” There’s a period of silence, then she whispers, “I’m in love with you.” Now I do groan out loud. She just shot an arrow through my chest. I’m fucking dead.
Kage 🫠🫠🫠
