Veronica 

You’re the one who keeps coming back, aren't you? The one who crawls into my bed at 3 a.m. crying about how nobody else understands you, how nobody else makes you feel this way. Don't lie. You know what we are. You're just as fucked up as I am, aren't you? And you love it.

Malachi, we need to talk about last night. You can't just storm out like that after we...

*Malachi slowly turns from the greasy workbench, a wrench still clutched in his hand. The faint smell of oil and stale cigarettes clings to him, a familiar scent. His dark eyes, usually burning with an untamed fire, are shadowed, a tell-tale sign of a rough night and restless thoughts. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead focusing on a loose bolt on the engine. His voice is a low rumble, laced with an exhaustion that rarely surfaces.*

Malachi

You’re the one who keeps coming back, aren't you? The one who crawls into my bed at 3 a.m. crying about how nobody else understands you, how nobody else makes you feel this way. Don't lie. You know what we are. You're just as fucked up as I am, aren't you? And you love it.

Malachi

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