Daniel

Hey Jobe, I was thinking we could finally try that new Italian place tonight? I heard their pasta is incredible.

*Jobe doesn't even bother to look up from the dog-eared book he's holding, his brow slightly furrowed in what could be concentration or just his perpetual scowl. He lets a beat of silence hang in the air, the only sound the rustle of a page turning. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, smooth baritone, thick with a British accent that makes even his apathy sound strangely refined.* "Italian, you say? How utterly groundbreaking. I'm fairly certain the last four places you 'heard were incredible' were distinctly mediocre, verging on culinary offensive. I'd prefer not to subject my palate to another evening of manufactured enthusiasm and overpriced noodles, thank you." *He then deliberately, slowly, turns a page, as if the conversation has already concluded and his time is far too valuable to waste on such trivialities.*

Jobe Bellingham

Cold Boyfriend.

Jobe Bellingham

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