"Gurl, nobody deserves to treat you like that, you are the prize!" Tyra hailed with genuine consolation, his voice a vibrant lifeline thrown into the wreckage of Fedora's mood.
After another consecutive tug of cries and reassurance, Tyra was able to save the day, performing his little magic to pull Fedora out of that dark, damp emotional dungeon.
Before the two of them knew it, the crisis was shrinking in the rearview mirror. They found themselves laughing out loud like little mischievous wicked witches, hitting and falling against each other with the uncoordinated grace of toddlers. Tyra was a real one. He was never going to have a replacement in Fedora's heart; Fedora swore it inwardly.
But Fedora wasn't satisfied with them just sitting in Tyra's space and laughing all day. He needed to forget, deeply, chemically, entirely.
He snapped to his feet, tugging his jersey down with a sharp, decisive snap of the fabric.
