“Responsible or not, you are my rider.”
He lowers his head and inhales, lifting my hair.
“I’m not.”
One very weird sniffing session later, he raises his ginormous head.
“You are,” he insists.
“Am not.” I shake my head.
“Are too.” He narrows his eyes.
“See? Look at us. You’re mentally five years old.” I throw my hands out at my sides.
“If I’m five, then you’re four.”
Childrennnn, I love them
— Oct 01, 2026 09:18AM
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