Mateo
"Or she," Mateo agrees with a sunny smile, shuffling over to deposit Ever's stocking next to his own, gazing over his shoulder with a very suspicious narrowing of his eyes. "Pants on fire," he drawls, though his playful ribbing is interrupted by the DING! of cinnamon buns, and of course Mateo cares to help Ever glaze them. He knots the shawl around his neck so it won't fly off with his incredible decorating skills, then sidles up beside the paramedic to obnoxiously smoosh a kiss to his cheek.
"Okay, same deal as every year," Mateo tells him, carefully dividing the buns into equal portions. "These are yours. They are sacred and they will be uniformly decorated to perfection." He gestures to Ever's buns. "And these are mine. They are perfettamente imperfetto and I will decorate them con abbastanza zucchero che potrei morire."
Clapping his hands together, he scoops up some icing and globs it onto his cinammon buns.
"Okay, same deal as every year," Mateo tells him, carefully dividing the buns into equal portions. "These are yours. They are sacred and they will be uniformly decorated to perfection." He gestures to Ever's buns. "And these are mine. They are perfettamente imperfetto and I will decorate them con abbastanza zucchero che potrei morire."
Clapping his hands together, he scoops up some icing and globs it onto his cinammon buns.
i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
