▸ @bxtsence ⟶ ❛ Rowan eyes the plastic mug carefully. “…. What exactly is in this coffee again?” ❜
Tweek’s head snapped up, and his eyes flashed with ire when Rowan asked what was in the coffee he had prepared. “What do take me for?” he snarled, thin upper lip pulling back from wasting teeth. Of course, very few people knew the truth about how his parents poisoned half the town, and logically, he understood that Rowan was not intentionally drawing a comparison to them. But the insinuation that Tweek would put anything in his coffee still threw red in the periphery of his vision.
He set his own cup on the table, cluttered with bills and newspaper sheets and bits of foil. The lease was in his present boyfriend’s name, and the apartment was just as much of a mess when Tweek moved in. He could not complain about a roof over his head and consistent access to a coffee pot, but people in more favorable stations tended to look on the place with disgust.
He stood up from the couch, which needed to be cleared of Redd’s laundry before he sat down. He needed to better clean the place, but the thought of that undertaking was so overwhelming that he took to clearing individual surfaces as necessary instead.
“Just French roast and a little powdered creamer,” Tweek answered impatiently as he walked to Rowan. He grasped the top of Rowan’s mug, ready to pluck it out of his hands, should he continue to offend. “I’m not forcing you to drink it. If you don’t want it, say so.”
