if it doesn't burn a little
”Perhaps,” she drawls, a roguish grin on her face, ”but don’t we all?” What a true question it was, too. They were all working on improving somehow, and if they weren’t, they probably should be. No one was perfect, not even the gods. A blasphemous thought, surely, but Weaver isn’t exactly the most devout.
His next statement would leave her chuckling, though she doesn’t, given the look on his face. It’s not that she wanted to laugh at him, but merely that he hadn’t found her yet. ”For starters,” she says, sticking out a finger as if counting the number one. ”No relationship is perfect and shit happens.” Another finger. ”You are giving yourself a whole lot of credit for being the only responsible party in a two way street. Not saying you didn’t fuck up, but it usually works both ways.” A third finger. ”You haven’t known me for very long, but I’m pretty hard to piss off.”
His next statement would leave her chuckling, though she doesn’t, given the look on his face. It’s not that she wanted to laugh at him, but merely that he hadn’t found her yet. ”For starters,” she says, sticking out a finger as if counting the number one. ”No relationship is perfect and shit happens.” Another finger. ”You are giving yourself a whole lot of credit for being the only responsible party in a two way street. Not saying you didn’t fuck up, but it usually works both ways.” A third finger. ”You haven’t known me for very long, but I’m pretty hard to piss off.”
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
