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The book of love is long and boring
As Sam began to climb his stairs he noted the shaking in Remi's voice. He had always been quick to observe things like that, his paranoia and anxiety about social situations giving him the ability to pick up on anything that could mean someone was displeased with him (though conversely, if he was too internalised on a specific day he could also miss every social cue given).
Upstairs, a lantern dimly lit up the two chairs where they had once kissed, smiled, spoke: though neither of them remembered it. Mia sat on one of the chairs, 'mrrp'-ing and looking up as they came into the loft; Sam picked her up and took her seat, motioned for Remi to sit opposite.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, hoping for the tension to soon be over, even if it were bad news.
Upstairs, a lantern dimly lit up the two chairs where they had once kissed, smiled, spoke: though neither of them remembered it. Mia sat on one of the chairs, 'mrrp'-ing and looking up as they came into the loft; Sam picked her up and took her seat, motioned for Remi to sit opposite.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, hoping for the tension to soon be over, even if it were bad news.
No one can lift the damn thing
