The only attention I’ve ever received from him has been swiftly followed by a cutting remark, leading to my inevitable humiliation, so it’s logical to assume that’s where this is headed. “No, she does not find it good,” Havok states calmly, taking a sip of his hot bean water. Completely black, I might add. He must like it to match the color of his cold, dead heart. I feel guilty the second I let the thought form, knowing I’m not the kind of person to judge so callously, nor do I want to be. Especially when a part of me has always felt there was something more to the brooding boy who insisted
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