XVIII.

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HOW DOES IT FEEL?
- citizen 

HOW DOES IT FEEL?- citizen 

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★━━─ ・‥...━━━☆

"lyds, if you eat all my fucking food, i'm kicking your ass."

lydia jacobs let out a loud, genuine laugh in response to the young boy's seemingly threatening words. ashtray had always been a smartass which brought amusement to the girl whenever she was given the chance to hear his comments.

"leave her alone." fez shot a short glance towards ashtray that was followed by a shake of his head. "i buy most of this shit anyways."

"which you wouldn't be able to without me." ashtray sent fez a sarcastic smile before tilting his head ever so slightly. "i win."

"boy, if you don—"

lydia was forced to lean her frame against the counter due to the laugh that nearly overtook her entire being watching the young boy rush off through the house to escape fez's backlash. the sound caused a smile to conjure itself upon fez's features, for it was a rare moment to witness first hand.

fez sent lydia a sideways glance that allowed her to take notice to the smile he'd been sending her way. "i fucking love you."

lydia's laughs fell short in response to his words, yet a grin remained as she stared teasingly. "who wouldn't?"

fez rolled his eyes playfully before destroying the distance left between the two. lydia's back pressed against the kitchen counter as fez's chest nearly pressed against her own. his hands traveled to her sides in order to attempt tickling the girl into a confession only for lydia to catch his wrists.

"don't you even think about it."

"or what?" fez stared downwards to study her features that were carrying the utter peace within her heart. "what're you gonna do, lyds?"

"kiss you."

★━━─ ・‥...━━━☆

"i could lose my job doing this."

spencer reid was laying out the files of the two cases that held too many coincidences for his own peace of mind. it forced his soul to become restless in the possibility justice was never served. lydia jacobs words from her questioning lingered, never once allowing the agent to believe he was making a difference.

jackson peters was seated at his kitchen table with his feet propped upon the surface. he leaned back nonchalantly with a ghost of a smile. "i bet you're glad i'm not a snitch, dr reid."

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