Most people will tell you that giving your pets any kind of medication in pill form is an absolute nightmare, meanwhile I have the exact opposite problem.
A friend of mine was watching my cat Mim while I was travelling this weekend and when he went to split her weekly allergy pill (made to split into 4 small pills when you press down on it with a finger) to give her the usual 1/4, he fumbled it and sent it skittering across the floor where my ridiculous pill-loving menace of cat immediately gobbled down the whole thing, leading to me receiving a panicked phone call at 11 pm from said friend who was understandably freaking out (everyone’s fine, a single high dose won’t cause any problems as long as it’s just this once).
Behold: the villain herself, basking in the success of her crime (she’d be planning her next pill-related heist but, as you can see if you look closely, there’s there’s nothing but elevator music behind those eyes)
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"Are you going to break my heart?"
Eddie almost drives them off the road.
It's late, nearly 2 am, and the country road is narrow and winding, and this thing between them, fingers twinned above the gear shift, radio turned down low, Stevie Nicks singing to them softly, is new. Eddie wants to live in this moment forever, wants the smell of lake water and dying August heat to live in their clothes, wants the warmth of first kisses and whispered confessions to last in tingling sparks in their skin, the memory of touch to be permanent. It won't be, it'll all fade, but Eddie can visit it again, rewrite them into the cotton and the softness of Steve's mouth.
It's late, and this is new.
"It's okay if you do," Steve says, so quiet. He's holding on to Eddie's hand like he's dangling off a cliff. "I can handle it. I'd just like a heads up, so I can prepare."
Eddie almost feels guilty, basking in his joy when Steve was sinking into something else. He thinks, if he were a kid still, if he hadn't died, hadn't lost everything and managed to get it all back, he'd be angry. But he's not. He's not, and he did, and it's late and this is new—but it's not unfamiliar. The same, but more, an extra free scoop with whipped cream and sprinkles, a cherry on top.
"You trust me?" Eddie asks. He rubs his thumb along Steve's knuckles, feels the scars under his skin, little tears in someone so perfect.
"Of course," Steve croaks. Eddie can't look at him, because the road is dark and narrow and winding, and he has to get his boy home safe.
"And I trust you," Eddie says, brings Steve's hand up, presses a kiss like a seal to his skin. "And I love you, and you love me. I got you."
Steve's quiet for a long, long moment. Eddie can tell he's watching him, so he presses another kiss to Steve's hand, lets his lips linger on hard tendons and dark veins. Kisses in his promises to the place they're linked together.
When he speaks again, it's soft, and Eddie can hear the love, living and leaving in the air between Steve's teeth.
"Okay," he says, giving Eddie everything. "You got me."
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