𝘥𝘢͟𝘯͟𝘯͟𝘺.ᐟ
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“six,” jo murmurs, her own beer picked up and a heavy sip taken. “don’t know what the fuck was in the water in march.”

“i like you when you’re a little mean,” jo teases, her eyes still on her plate. “but fine, okay, you can make whatever you want.”

“a spice wouldn’t kill you, that’s all,” jo shrugs her shoulders, “but you don’t need to do that, really. i’m not picky, i’m just an asshole.”

“they aren’t so bad,” it’s just sweet he cooks for her at all, she’d never complain. “you have?”

“i forgot,” jo laughs softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “you should be happy, at least i’m eating my vegetables.”

“haven’t eaten since breakfast,” her shoulders shrug and she’s taking a seat, practically inhaling the veggies on her plate before he even sits down.

jo hums, and although it’s usually kind of gross when he cooks so healthy, she isn’t really eaten all day so she’s not about to start complaining. “thank god.”

it is, so once she lets herself in, she’s kicking off her sneakers and heading into the kitchen, exhaustion written on her face. “hi.”





well, get off call. if you haven’t slept, you can’t work.



