creativecanine

 They were fighting again. He hated it when they fought. All the same, every time they began to spit at one another, he found an innate stubbornness rose in his throat like bile, refusing to let him back down, even if he'd wanted to. It hadn't yet reached this boiling point, but he knew it would. It was lighter, slyer, more slippery fighting at the moment, but it was fighting all the same. He still hated it when they fought. "It's become an obsession, you realize. It's unhealthy." He looked up from the blueprints he was studying so insistently, brows raised over quizzical, carefully guarded eyes. "Excuse me?" "Don't act like you don't