#Chapter195
/"I think I need ice cream,/" I muttered, shooting Deacon a meaningful look.
He scoffed. He had been pacing the long stretch of corridor, his black clothes— the little emo bastard— making him stand out in contrast against the painfully bare white walls, and his boots squeaked against the floor.
He had been jittery ever since we had arrived, almost two and a half hours ago, and at first I thought that he was annoyed with me, which would have been understandable, but the longer I had watched him, the more I had realized that the pussy just didn't like hospitals. Which was fucking hilarious, but it was also sweet that he was willing to wait with me, even though he was uncomfortable.
It warmed me like a fucking cracked egg on the sidewalk during a heatwave.
