Bearclaw Valley weep little lion man

The slant of Merrick's chin, his dark expression, the light carving a Rembrandt triangle out of his nose and cheek, he finds it hard to look away. Taylor smirks— I see what you did there. They were still teenagers in the end, after all.
He hangs on every word. You're going to join us? He asks, colored by self-consciousness, a hint of the German accent coming back like a rat's writhing tail under a cat's paw and he cringes. Clears his throat.
Something greedy inside of him wants Evien to say for you.