Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

It’d been a long job when Eliot came home to the warmth of his apartment. Ever since Quinn, it felt more right. The apartment, the act of coming home, everything. Eliot unlocked the door and was promptly greeted by the smell of good food and the purring of Milo pressing against his leg. Good food meant Quinn had order-in, because there is no way Quinn in the kitchen would have produced any smell other than char and fire. Eliot bent down to scratch behind Milo’s ears as he peeled off his jacket a