Mateo
Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
Mateo's gasp is dramatic enough to have two guys weight training glance over, assuming he's hurt, only for the florist to sit up and promptly pull out his phone. "You are right, I am so sorry," he agrees, tapping into the app and instantly abandoning his stretches to begin building a dating profile for Everest. It probably comes to the surprise of no one that Mateo actually doesn't date, not online at least. He tends to simply fall in and out of people's beds.
"Mmm...? Oh, no, no of course not. I'd like you in the house more, so I don't have to worry you've been stabbed again," he says, the truth slipping out off-handedly because Mateo is busy with the app. "I just... I worry you're not happy sometimes, I guess." Maybe the florist is a little biased, given the vibrancy of his sex life, but he feels somehow like Ever is missing out where he doesn't have to be.
"Mmm...? Oh, no, no of course not. I'd like you in the house more, so I don't have to worry you've been stabbed again," he says, the truth slipping out off-handedly because Mateo is busy with the app. "I just... I worry you're not happy sometimes, I guess." Maybe the florist is a little biased, given the vibrancy of his sex life, but he feels somehow like Ever is missing out where he doesn't have to be.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
