He could be getting ready to confess that he’s a vampire, my brain volunteers. Or he could have caught you looking at him like you want to lick his neck— I do not want to lick his neck, I argue, kicking an innocent pebble in protest. I’m your brain, my brain reminds me. You can’t hide anything from me. And it’s painfully obvious how attracted you are to Cyrus, even though you should really cut that out and refocus on the part where you reject him in the most humiliating fashion—of course, you’d need him to actually say that he likes you first— I tell my brain to shut up.
