"Son, my main warning to you is this; do not get injured in a pleasant, female assassins house, under any conditions. Got it?"))

Harlow gave a faint smile when he spoke, bearing his weight well for someone of her size. "That's very brave of you, but I'd rather not have to drag you to your bed after you fall." She said sarcastically. She made sure he was steady before releasing him, offering him the pants with a small smile. "I wouldn't be so sure, but I suppose I'll find out tomorrow whether you make it or not. And I'll try to get you some crutches. Anything else I can help you with?" She asked lightly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Shussh thats not it-

Warned him about not being cautious enough and to try his best not to be hurt cuz that maketh weaknesses

..."And above all, NO POPTARTS. THEY WILL GET YOU KILLED."))

"I have my arms, I am a proficient crawler." He glared at her slightly. He held onto the door frame as hard as he really could with his still tender left arm, switching sides when he got the pants. "I don't need any crutches, it was a suggestion because ow." He narrowed his eyes, flipping the light switch on. "I'm fine for now. Thank you, Harlow." He said in a gentle tone. For some reason his father's Italian accent bit in right there.

Mmmhm

Well you said exactly so I mean ya cant blame me

"The curse of the pop tarts is a powerful one, but it is rumored that if he who is being babysat reaches for one, his ass gon get shot."))

"Right, sorry. I'll leave you to your crawling then." Harlow teased, rolling her eyes. "No, I can tell they'll help. I'll see if I can order some or something." She shrugged, leaning lightly against the other side of his doorframe. "Alright then. Well, it's the least I could do, after almost killing you. Sleep well, Mark." She smiled, turning off and walking back up to her room so she could finally wipe off her makeup and take her hair down.

Yes I can blame you

"if you EVER find yourself under the poptart curse ..call your lawyer"))

He rolled his eyes like a child. "Fiiine, find me crutches then." He scoffed. Finding a more even expression he looked very thankful, his head tilted down. He wanted to argue that she didn't almost kill him, getting shot in the leg wasn't as life threatening as it could be. He leaned over and pulled the door, he hopped back and shut it. He looked around the room, and limped the heaviest he'd ever limped closer to the bed, leaning on the nightstand to change his pants and take off his shirt. He sat down lightly, rubbing his face. He had been missing for days now. He wondered if his dad was worried. He sighed. Laying out on the bed. Most of all he hoped his baby sister was alright. He was supposed to see her that week, wasn't he? He didn't have his phone to check. That was still wrecked in his poor poor chevy. He'd have to ask Harlow what day it was tomorrow. Harlow. He shut his eyes. That made him less stressed. Not that he caught on.

skippy to le mornin?))

"888-urmom-.com, got it son?"))

Harlow found herself with unusually bad night terrors that night. These were frequent, but not usually enough to frighten her the way these did. They were so bad, she was whimpering in her sleep, expressing vague sounds of pain in a state of semi-consciousness. Maybe loud enough to travel through the house, maybe not. She ended up getting about four hours of sleep in total, whatever nightsows she had so bad she couldn't even remember them. She was downstairs in the living room by nine, curled up on the couch and watching the news.

HEHEHE))

He hadn't gotten much good sleep either. it was like a feverdream the whole night. Plus waking up if he ever moved his leg. Eventually he gave up aroundnd nine-thirty. He took his buttondown and tied it over his shoulders like a cape. Eventually he gained the courage to get up. His leg could hold very little weight. He was moving stiffly but eventually he made it out to the hallway, surprisingly quiet. He made it out halfway to the couch. His voice came out a little rough, still tired. Wasn't the worst sleep he's gotten before. "Good morning." He continued limping toward the sofa.

"Morning." Harlow replied quietly, taking in his shirtless appearance, her eyes slowly dragging over him. It didn't help that she was exhausted, so she didn't have the wits about her to play it off any sort of way. She simply ripped her gaze away and looked back at the tv, which was on the news. "Can I make you anything? Coffee, breakfast?" She added softly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, glancing down at himself. Right. He made it to the couch, sitting down. He seemed more agile with the limp now. "So far no, I'm fine." He'd had too many sleepless nights to care about one with bad sleep. "What day is it?" (Friday/saturday, he sees his lil sister on saturdays) He asked, lightening up a little.

Harlow nodded and gave a small stretch, glancing over at him as he asked his question. "Today is Saturday. Oh, I found you some crutches, I picked them up this morning." She nodded, gesturing to the two that were leaning against her kitchen counter a little tiredly. She grabbed her cup of tea and took a sip, sighing afterwards.

He murmured some form of cursing, looking down. "Thank you," he glanced over toward the crutches. He'd only use one, he wouldn't be relegated to both of them if he had a choice. He turned to the news.