he would call you his 'little lamb' with sleep in his voice, a pet name he used in his happier moments, for you, his silly little sheep. and he would look at you with not hate in his eyes, but something so much softer. something you knew, something he didn't. these comfortable, domestic moments with geto came more and more often... but they were short lived, and always followed by violence. the sweeter he got, the meaner he grew, too. you had grown used to this volatile vicious