you were sat outside on your patio steps, the cold air painting your cheeks a light pink.

“where were you?” as spike was about to open his mouth to reply, you shushed him. “in five words or less,”

he sarcastically inhaled and looked you straight in the eyes. “out. for. a. walk.” he had four fingers up for each word, a thought popping into his head. “bitch.” five fingers.