He leans his forehead into his palm, throat working. Well done, remarks a sour voice. You ruined it again. The one night you'll have alone in weeks, too.
By virtue of -- what? Being too kind? Fuck that. This isn't his fault. Not this time.
(Not that that makes Alistair feel any less sick.)
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He leans his forehead into his palm, throat working. Well done, remarks a sour voice. You ruined it again. The one night you'll have alone in weeks, too.
By virtue of -- what? Being too kind? Fuck that. This isn't his fault. Not this time.
(Not that that makes Alistair feel any less sick.)