david-corvin:
“Your mom,” he shot back immaturely, shoving away the small brunette’s touch. The flesh was tender, but surprisingly, looked worse than it felt. David scowled at her laughter, setting his jaw firmly before raking a hand through light hair. “I was going to ice it, but then I ended up falling asleep.” The result? Looking like he’d tried to motorboat a woodchipper.
“You’d still be bleeding, bub.” Though she frowned, her hand falling back to her waist for a moment. The tenderness had been abandoned but care had been held somewhere deep behind the action if only painted onto her features for a split second. The giddiness that David’s confidence had been challenge hadn’t disappeared for long, and the merriment maintained in her tone, “What? This happen last night? You got any rice?” She questioned while simultaneously shoving him unsuccessfully in the direction of the apartment.











