Still unbeta'd. This one's OLD, y'all - really old. c.2005 or something. I aplogise if it's truly awful. I haven't changed a thing because I don't know what to change: can't see wood for trees and whatnot. I still don't own anyone, unfortunately. It's getting kind of depressing now.
iv. socks
She hasn't spoken to him all day and even at the end of an eighteen-hour shift he still isn't sure why. She's never been one to forgive and forget, but if truth be told even she can't quite remember why she's angry in the first place. They ride the subway in tense silence, him looking like a lost schoolboy and her narrowing her eyes whenever she looks at him. She knows it's juvenile but she can't help herself.
"Are you gonna talk to me?" he asks as they get home.
"Only if you promise to pick up your own socks."