“Good.” He says it brightly, abruptly so, as he wasn’t just bristling with a swarming rage. It’s a tad too cheerful, honestly, but Mickey seems, to him, blind enough not to worry about things like that.
He’s grinning again. Poor sod has no idea, does he?
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He’s grinning again. Poor sod has no idea, does he?
“As many memories as it’s possible to make.”