“Farrow—” “I can’t tell you what happened, wolf scout,” he says, his voice abnormally constricted. “Not while you’re driving.” Long dead silence tries to eat away at me. “I can drive,” Maximoff finally replies. “I’ll be fine. You know I can handle it. Just tell me what the fuck is going on. Please.” “I know you can drive. I know you won’t wreck.” “Then why are you doing this to me?” His hurt is crushing. “Man, don’t say it like that,” Farrow breathes, tortured too.
