[kavinsky edges forward until his toes are hanging over just an inch. the air plays with his hair, his shirt, his nerves. maybe it's the illusion of danger that reassures him more than anything, reminding him of himself, even though billy's here, and billy would probably save him from falling, even if he knew it wouldn't kill him.

some people are like that.]

So asshole's asshole would get bigger and that's it, [kavinsky observes. he takes his eyes off the earth below, turns his head back to look at billy, teeth flashing white.] Babe. You are no good at hurting people on purpose. Maybe a skill needs cultivating.