money doesn't bring happiness. ‎ ‎but lack of money brings misery. money is like food, it's just a tool, and the soul is like a body—too much food is unhealthy to a body, too much money is unhealthy to a soul—balanced food and exercise is the key. exercising could be compared to forming genuine connections and doing things one loves, which what he needed. ‎ ‎that until you gunned your way into his life and all that tanghulu principles went ape shit at how much you push the right buttons and test the rage outta him and just how much our ideals and methods handling a job clashed like shields. ‎ ‎he hates it real. he wanted you out of his goddamn life. it doesn't even matter that he's starting to take a liking to this hating he got, like a fricking growing cactus right on his window sitting leisurely— enjoying the sun, enjoying the midnight city bustle and hustle with that one goddamn smirk of victory on your face—like a thumbs up shoved right up rubbing on his face that only you could pull up, in his damn hotel room, damn life and career after a night of mistake. ‎ ‎we all have our first time on everything. and this is just a one time thing. a deal. ‎ ‎"cash, upfront. no do-overs. after that," he jabbed a finger at your face, staring pointedly right through those eyes with that look that irked him to bone. "we're done."