For the love of— not that again.
A soft snarl on his lips, brow raised.
”If you want to keep that— and your stuffing inside of you,
I’d suggest you don’t call me that.
—- And ouais, I am.”
❝ Awl-right, Mr. Touchy McTouchy over here.
I’ll call you Mont … ❞ —- the rest of his name is murmured under his breath;
already forgotten within seconds.