let me take the night off. I’m
, you have no idea, I can’t do another damned job tonight—”
“It’s easy,” Kiyoko reassures him. Suga groans against the tabletop; he’s sprawled across it horizontally, as if that will make him seem more pathetic.
Well, it probably does, but Kiyoko famously is the most unyielding person he knows.
Others could call her a cold bitch, and maybe she could be one, if she weren’t so horrifically (and quietly) devoted to people and causes. Just, like, two of them. Suga may be one of the two.
She walks around his outstretched arms, ignoring his whine, and rummages around in a cabinet. She pulls out a mason jar of something greenish and opaque.
Suga narrows his eyes in suspicion when she opens it and offers it to him.
“What,” he says. He wrinkles his nose because wow, that is
. His stomach churns.
“It will help replenish some of your magic. You won’t be so tired,” she tells him tonelessly and Suga wants, so badly, to go back to thinking she’s a cold-hearted tyrant.
But god, Kiyoko is giving him one of her homemade concoctions, free, just so he’ll feel better.
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