Will is making us a snack in the kitchen, and he’s singing a made-up song that goes, “I love apples and I love tea and I love my friends and my friends love me! I saw two cats and a dog today, and I’m really, really, really, really, really gay!” and I would take a bullet for this awful little man. There are limbs that I value less than I value our friendship. I love him so fucking much. His song is a song of truth.
He’s standing in front of the fridge shamelessly eating cold pasta out of a Tupperware container with his bare hands. He is angelic and repulsive, and you guys need to stop saying you ship us because a.) I’m not good enough for him, and b.) I wouldn’t let those sticky little noodle hands anywhere near my non-platonic zones.
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