I present chapter five, in which there is -- gasp -- no smut! However, for the sake of posterity, I feel the need to point out that this part made MURASAKI drool over S/K. So ha ha. ^___^ My work here is done.
Chapter Five: Memories
The first thing that struck Kamui upon walking into Subaru’s room was how dark it was. Somehow Subaru had managed to rig the curtains so there wasn’t even a glimmer around the edges of the windows from the street lamps outside or the soon approaching dawn. Kamui fumbled around for a light switch, and found one. Fortunately, it only turned on a small lamp near the door.
That provided enough light for Kamui to get his second impression of the room, which was an instant recognition of why Subaru hadn’t wanted him to come in. The room was plastered with pictures of Seishirou. If it wasn’t for a few gaps, Kamui might have said the room was wallpapered with them. It was amazing -- and more than a little disturbing.
For a minute Kamui’s eyes simply traveled over the walls. Most of the pictures were from when Subaru had been a kid, and some were odd shapes that implied the other person or people in the photograph had been cut out so only Seishirou remained. In some, that had been impossible from the positioning, and so the faces were scratched out with black marker. Kamui shivered.
Some of the pictures were more recent, though, and Kamui didn’t know how on earth Subaru would have gotten them. Or why he had them. Or, for that matter, why he had covered the room with them.
Another low moan returned Kamui to the reason he had come in to begin with, and he hurried over to Subaru. In the dim light of the lamp, he could see the black curtains that were nailed to the walls, so that no light could get in. Kamui swallowed hard; if he hadn’t known the occupant, he would have said whoever lived in the room was probably completely insane.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Subaru had twisted himself up in the sheets, and was clutching a pillow to his chest. There was a fine sheen of sweat over his face, and he let out another cry as Kamui watched. Kamui hesitantly reached out and shook one of his shoulders.
Subaru let out a ragged cry and jerked awake; he instinctively grabbed Kamui by the arm. Kamui was rather surprised to find himself almost instantly pinned to the bed with a knife at his throat, wondering vaguely where Subaru had gotten the knife to begin with. He probably sleeps with it under his pillow, the detached, reasonable part of his brain supplied, the part of the brain which was in no way connected to the part that was shrieking. He was too surprised to do anything other than blink up at Subaru as Subaru stared back down at him.
“For God’s sake, Kamui.” Subaru withdrew the knife. “I told you never to come in here. You’re lucky I didn’t slit your throat.”
Kamui was somewhat alarmed to find that he’d started shaking. “S-Sorry,” he managed. “I could hear you, I thought you were having a nightmare . . .”
“I was,” Subaru answered sharply. “But for future reference, that’s no excuse to come in here without asking. I’ll forgive you this time because you were trying to help. Now go back to bed.”
“I had a nightmare too,” Kamui said, then added sheepishly, “Can I stay in here tonight?”
“No,” Subaru replied immediately, and lit up a cigarette. “I’m getting up anyway.”
“Getting up?” Kamui answered, startled. “But it’s barely dawn!” He glanced at the clock on Subaru’s bedside table. “It’s not even five o’clock yet.”
“Congratulations, you’ve learned to tell time.” Subaru stood up and gave Kamui a pointed look. Kamui blushed a little, realizing that Subaru was wearing only boxer shorts and he himself was only clad in his pajama pants. Subaru apparently took pity on him, because he went on to add, “I get up when I wake up, Kamui, no matter what time of day it is. I never fall asleep again, so I might as well get to work.”
“There haven’t been any faxes,” Kamui replied, without missing a beat. “You don’t have anything to do.”
Subaru gave him a suspicious glance.
“Honestly,” Kamui said. “There aren’t.”
“That doesn’t always mean I don’t have work to do,” Subaru said. “But in this instance, I don’t.” He gave Kamui and the bed a speculative look.
“Please?” Kamui asked. “Just until I fall asleep again?”
Subaru remained standing where he was. “I thought you weren’t going to be my playtoy, Kamui.”
Kamui didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t aware that you and Seishirou did much cuddling,” he replied dryly.
Subaru looked away. “You know surprisingly little about what Seishirou and I did, Kamui. Don’t make assumptions.”
“Did you cuddle?” Kamui asked.
“That’s none of your business,” Subaru replied irritably, wondering how on earth he had gotten drawn into such an inane conversation. The logical part of his mind analyzed the situation. “If I get back into bed, will you shut up?”
“Yes,” Kamui answered immediately.
“Fine then.” Subaru stubbed out his cigarette and crawled back under the blankets. He made no move towards Kamui, but wasn’t surprised when the younger boy nestled right up to him, resting his head on Subaru’s shoulder. Having a warm body next to him in bed was a sensation that Subaru was decidedly uncomfortable with. It made him think of Seishirou too much. Everything about Kamui made him think of Seishirou; it all reminded him how he was trying to live what was left of Seishirou’s life.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked softly.
“I thought you wanted me to shut up.” Kamui’s voice was already sleepy, muffled against Subaru’s shoulder.
“I did,” Subaru said. “Now answer my question.”
“You’re being silly,” Kamui said. “Because I love you.”
“You want to save me,” Subaru said flatly.
“Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.”
“Now who’s being silly?” Subaru asked in a dry tone. “Anyone can see that I’m beyond salvation.”
“No one is ever beyond salvation, Subaru.” Kamui’s eyes slid closed. Subaru could tell he was falling asleep as he spoke. Then his eyes opened abruptly and he said, “Can I ask a personal question?”
Subaru shrugged.
“Did you sleep with Seishirou before you knew he was the Sakurazukamori, or afterwards?”
Subaru flinched. That was not what he had been expecting.
Kamui waited as endless seconds ticked by, until it became clear that Subaru was not going to answer him. “All right,” he said, with a soft sigh. “I was just thinking it was nice to fall asleep with you, knowing that I’m safe . . . and wondering if you’d ever felt that way about him.”
“You don’t know you’re safe with me,” Subaru countered, rather than having to answer the question that Kamui had asked.
“I suppose I don’t.” Kamui yawned. “I’m fairly certain that you won’t kill me, though. If you wanted me dead, you would have done it already. And I’m not afraid of much else.”
Silence fell. Subaru ignored the implications of that statement.
“I know you don’t love me,” Kamui said quietly. “And I know you don’t need me. But do you want me?”
A year ago, Subaru would have choked and most likely blushed at that question. Now he simply stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom and wished he hadn’t put out his cigarette.
He did not answer the question, but that was fine with Kamui, because he already knew what the answer was.
~~~~
Fuuma was having one of those interesting days, the kind where he woke up slowly but had trouble remembering where he was. He stared around the room, unseeing, for a long minute. It didn’t seem familiar. He sat up, pushing one hand through his hair and glancing around for a minute.
A few seconds later, the little memory that he had seeped back through. He crawled out of bed and into a pair of jeans, still looking around the room. “God, did I have any personality at all before I got whacked on the head?” he muttered to himself. The room was full of neatly stacked books and papers. There was a basketball in one corner. It was eerily immaculate for the room of a teenaged boy.
And God, the clothes. The clothes had been horrible. Fuuma couldn’t imagine a time that his fashion sense had ever been that awful. He’d had to resist the urge to burn them, and only sated that by going out and buying some new ones immediately.
In the four days since he had moved in, the room had gotten steadily more and more messy. There were clothes piled on the floor and he had tossed around some of the books just to make the room looked lived in. He hadn’t yet ventured into his father’s or his sister’s bedroom, but the rest of the house was already a pit.
He peeked into his sister’s room, and saw nothing but pink and lace. Making a disgusted face, he proceeded onto the kitchen and pulled a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, taking a swig without bothering with a glass. He kicked the fridge shut behind him and continued to wander around the house with the orange juice, still clad only in jeans, trying to figure out what to do with his day.
After a few minutes, he flopped onto the couch and flipped the television on, thinking of waiting until after lunch and going to see Seishirou in the hospital. Without knowing any of his previous friends, Seishirou was the only human contact he had. Fuuma had tried to figure out what he’d been doing with his days, but the last homework assignment he had was for almost a year previous. He’d called around, but apparently wasn’t enrolled anywhere. So I’m a high school dropout . . . interesting.
Fuuma was frustrated. Everything in his life had been neat and ordered, then, about a year previous, everything just stopped. No more school notes, no more neat little things written on the calendar. It was as if his anal retentiveness had suddenly died. It might not be so odd, though -- that was about when Kotori had died.
He was trying not to let the lack of memory bother him, so he didn’t talk about it. He’d done what he could, of course; looked through his address book and called a few people who seemed to have been friends with his father, but they all said they hadn’t heard from him since Kotori died.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t tried looking through Kotori’s address book. He sauntered into his sister’s room, ignoring the pinkness and the stuffed animals on the bed. Kotori apparently didn’t have an address book, but there was a piece of paper left on Kotori’s desk, with a phone number written in pink marker. The name written next to it was ‘Kamui.’
“Sure, what the hell,” Fuuma said. He took another swig of the orange juice, then picked up the phone and dialed the number. No one answered. “That figures,” Fuuma muttered, dropping the phone back into the cradle.
He flopped back on the sofa, pondering breakfast, and pondering his life. “Let’s see . . . so far I know that I’m an eighteen year old high school dropout . . . and I obviously wasn’t living here recently, because my room was all dusty.” For some reason, talking out loud made everything make more sense. “And the personality of the person that lived in that room is nothing like my personality.” He wrinkled his nose, thanking God for that little fact. Either he’d been repressing himself really well, or had undergone some major, life-changing event. “So, for the last year, I’ve been doing . . . what?”
He picked up the remote and flipped channels for a while. “Seishirou said we worked together . . . pretty odd when you consider that he’s got to be in his thirties . . . but who knows? Maybe he was just using working as a euphemism for fucking, ‘cause it’s pretty obvious we were doing that.” He considered this for a further minute. “Maybe I was a whore,” he suggested to the ceiling, and smirked a little because it amused him. “Nah, that can’t be it.”
At least, he reflected, he didn’t have to worry about finances. His father had left both the temple and a substantial inheritance to him and his sister; as Kotori had died, it all went to him. It would tide him over quite nicely for a number of years, though Fuuma suspected he should be thinking about finishing high school or something like that. He had absolutely no interest in school, but he didn’t really have any interest in flipping burgers for the rest of his life either.
He wondered what Seishirou did for a living, and rolled his eyes at himself for not asking before this. If he and Seishirou had worked together, it would probably help to find out what Seishirou did, now wouldn’t it. He got off the sofa and went to make himself some breakfast, ignoring the fact that it was almost noon. He ate and pulled on a black T-shirt, ran a brush through his hair and grabbed his sunglasses before leaving the house.
~~~~
The first thing Subaru was aware of, as he woke up, was that something felt wrong. He didn’t quite understand what, but everything felt strange and different. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and saw Kamui curled up next to him that he understood. He had fallen back to sleep. It was probably the first time he’d fallen asleep after a nightmare ever since Seishirou’s death.
He pondered this strange occurrence and rolled over to look at the clock. He blinked twice at the glowing red letters, sure that they were wrong, but they didn’t change. Apparently it was really half past noon. Not only had he fallen back to sleep, but he had slept undisturbed for over seven hours. That would probably account for why his body felt so strange; after so long being sleep deprived, having gotten a full night’s rest was very odd.
I must have been really tired, he thought, choosing to ignore whatever significance Kamui’s presence in his bed might have had. Well, he couldn’t overlook the fact that he never would have gone back to bed in the first place if it hadn’t been for Kamui. But the rest of it was easily overlooked. He had slept long and well simply because he had been very tired.
He shook Kamui, not gently. “Hey. You’re late for school.”
“Huh . . .?” Kamui sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes. Then he glanced at the clock. “Oh, shit . . .” He slumped back over and attempted to hide under the blankets.
“Get up,” Subaru ordered. “You shouldn’t miss any more. At least go for the second half of the day.”
“There’s no point now,” Kamui said, yawning. “’ve already missed too much for it t’matter . . . ‘ll just get the homework from Keichii later . . .”
“If you want.” Subaru didn’t waste time arguing with Kamui over such an inane subject. He slid out from the bed and looked around for his pants. He wasn’t embarrassed about being half-dressed in the room with Kamui. For one thing, he was still three quarters asleep, and for another, Subaru had lost most of his modesty.
He left Kamui dozing in his bed and went out to the kitchen. As he was making tea, he heard the sound that signified a fax had arrived, and he went out to get it while waiting for the water to boil. A simple job, all the information previously given. He could go check it this afternoon and hit the target late that night. There wouldn’t be any need for his usual afternoon nap after sleeping for so long.
He returned to the kitchen and tried to decide whether or not he wanted to eat. Well, not precisely, it was more like he tried to decide whether or not making food was worth it. If he waited half an hour, Kamui would do it. He reflected that he was most likely taking advantage of Kamui for that, but didn’t care enough to make breakfast himself.
He heard Kamui’s soft footsteps, and was well-aware that the younger boy had entered the kitchen, but he didn’t turn around to greet him in any way. He was somewhat startled, however, when Kamui’s thin arms slid around his waist, his cheek resting against Subaru’s still bare back. Subaru was suddenly painfully aware that he hadn’t yet gotten dressed all the way, and Kamui obviously hadn’t either. He could feel Kamui’s chest pressed against his back.
“Good morning to you too, Subaru,” Kamui said softly.
Subaru could feel Kamui’s heart beating, and suddenly realized it wasn’t going anywhere near as quickly as his own was. He stood completely still, letting Kamui hug him, waiting for him to get bored with it and let go. But Kamui didn’t let go. The moment of silence grew. The teapot started to whistle. Subaru reached out automatically and turned off the heat on the stove, then put the tea leaves in, doing all of this with Kamui still holding him from behind. “Kamui,” he finally said, intending to add ‘let go,’ but stopping after the name.
Kamui brushed his lips over Subaru’s spine, the lightest of touches, hardly noticeable. Subaru’s whole body tensed, but he didn’t move otherwise. Kamui continued to kiss Subaru’s back, just barely feathering his lips over his skin. Subaru closed his eyes, unable to deny how good it felt. His hands gripped the edge of the counter tightly and he bit back a whimper as Kamui’s lips parted and his tongue gently glided over Subaru’s skin.
// “I know you don’t love me.” //
Subaru wondered vaguely where on earth Kamui had picked this up; he didn’t think Kamui had that much experience in these matters. But there was no denying that he seemed to be quite adept at figuring out where Subaru’s most sensitive spots where.
// “And I know you don’t need me.” //
And Subaru hated himself for enjoying it, hated himself for wanting to give in to that tentative touch. He hated himself because he didn’t want to use Kamui, but he didn’t know what he wanted, he hated himself for thousands of reasons, most of which he couldn’t even begin to name.
// “But do you want me?” //
He couldn’t think anymore. Didn’t want to think. He’d had enough. He turned around quickly. A bit too quickly; Kamui stumbled backwards, surprised at his sudden movement. Subaru grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling and pinned him up against the opposite counter. His lips were on Kamui’s before he’d even realized what he was doing.
// “do you want me?” //
The kiss was rough, searching. Subaru could still feel Kamui’s heartbeat against his own, but now it was Kamui’s that was spinning out of control. But he had finally gotten what he wanted, and didn’t resist at all against Subaru’s lips. He let Subaru have complete control over the kiss, draping his arms around Subaru’s shoulders. His lips parted under Subaru’s and he let out a soft moan that went unheard.
Subaru’s hands slid over Kamui’s chest, taking advantage of the fact that Kamui hadn’t bothered to get dressed. Kamui freed his lips long enough to gasp for breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes under Subaru’s touch.
// “Subaru-kun . . . do you think I’m sexy?” //
Kamui suddenly felt Subaru’s touch falter, and the next thing he knew, Subaru was backing away. “Subaru?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.
Subaru began to shake his head. “No . . . I didn’t . . . I couldn’t have . . .”
“Subaru, damn it, there’s nothing wrong with kissing me!” Kamui yelled in frustration. “You don’t need to be loyal to Seishirou! The man is dead, Subaru! D-E-A-D dead!”
“Shut up!” Subaru shouted. “You don’t understand!”
Kamui just looked at him. Silence fell, unbroken for several long moments.
Subaru picked up a pack of cigarettes that lay on the kitchen counter and lit one with shaking hands. He avoided looking at Kamui or, for that matter, looking anywhere near him, breathing in smoke.
Kamui marched over and snatched the cigarette out of Subaru’s mouth, throwing it to the ground and grinding it into the kitchen floor, ignoring Subaru’s faint protest.
“Kiss me,” he said.
Subaru stared at him.
“Go ahead,” Kamui said. “Kiss me. And don’t say you don’t want to, because I know you do. If you can offer me one good excuse, I’ll accept that, but until you do, I’m not moving.”
“Because I’m still in love with Seishirou-san,” Subaru whispered.
“You’ll always be in love with Seishirou,” Kamui replied. “I got over that a long time ago.”
Subaru looked away, fixing his eyes on the pack of cigarettes. “Don’t you care about yourself at all?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Yeah,” Kamui said. “But I think I’m getting used to being miserable. And anyway, there are worse things than being second best.”
Subaru reached out a hand and placed it on Kamui’s chest. For a long second they stood that way, Subaru feeling Kamui’s heartbeat beneath his fingers. Then he gave Kamui a sharp push, sending him stumbling backwards.
“You’re lucky enough I’m letting you stay here,” he said coldly. “Don’t push me, Kamui.”
Kamui said nothing, nor did he move to stop Subaru from leaving the kitchen. He simply stood there, as Subaru disappeared into his room only to come out fully dressed a few minutes later. He left the apartment without another word.
~~~~
On the whole, Seishirou was pleased with himself. He’d been up and walking around almost all morning. His physical therapist was so impressed with his progress that he didn’t quite know what to make of it. “Well, I suppose you can go the day after tomorrow,” he finally said. “You’ll just have to be careful not to tire yourself, and come in twice a week for a while so we can make sure you’re not having any trouble . . .”
With a set release date in sight, Seishirou was in a much better mood than he had previously been. He was reading one of the books that Minako had brought him when Fuuma waltzed in. “Hey,” he greeted Seishirou with a wide grin, flopping into the other chair. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” Seishirou said. He was somewhat glad to notice that now that his immediate hormones had been satisfied, he could look at Fuuma without immediately drifting off into thinking about the wrong thing. “You?”
“Pretty good,” Fuuma said. “I’ve been trying to delve into my past.” He frowned thoughtfully, taking off his sunglasses and perching them on top of his head. “It’s a puzzle. I didn’t go to school, and it looks like I didn’t live in my house since my sister died.”
“Hm,” Seishirou said, trying to sound noncommittal.
“So it occurred to me to ask you,” Fuuma continued cheerfully. “I mean, you said we worked together. Did you actually mean working, or were you just using that as a cute little way of saying we were sleeping together? Don’t deny that we were; I won’t believe you.”
Seishirou shrugged. “It was a euphemism, but we did work together. It was both at once.”
“Ah, how very clever of you.” Fuuma pondered this for a long minute. “So what did I do?”
Blew things up and killed people, Seishirou’s brain supplied. He immediately squashed that response, not because he was afraid Fuuma might be shocked and horrified, but more because he might take it upon himself to go back to his old destructive habits. He searched for a harmless lie and couldn’t find one. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Fuuma gave him a suspicious look. “Well, what do you do?”
Seishirou gave up. “I’m an assassin.”
As expected, Fuuma’s eyes lit up. “Cool,” he said admiringly. “So what was I? Your assistant or something like that?”
Seishirou decided that if Fuuma wanted to come to that conclusion, he wasn’t going to stop him. More like I was your assistant, he thought, then squashed that thought as well. “Yeah, pretty much. You did some odd jobs for me. Don’t know what you did with the rest of your time.”
“Hm,” Fuuma said thoughtfully. “You know, I think I must’ve gone off the deep end when my sister died.”
Seishirou nearly choked, covering it up with a well-placed cough. “Oh?” he finally managed.
Fuuma regarded him somewhat suspiciously. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I mean, that’s when I dropped out of school and left my house, as far as I can tell. My clothes changed entirely. I stopped being the goody two-shoes brat that I know I was from the looks of my schoolwork. No one knew where I was. And now I find out that I was working for, and having sex with, an assassin who is almost twice my age.”
Seishirou studied the window with great interest.
“So I figure I must’ve totally tweaked out or something,” Fuuma said, frowning thoughtfully.
“I didn’t know you then,” Seishirou said, which was almost the entire truth. “So I’m afraid I can’t help you figure that one out.” All right, so that was a blatant lie, but he figured the whole ‘you killed your sister’ bit could probably wait a while.
“Come to think of it,” Fuuma said brightly, “how old are you?”
Seishirou coughed again. “Thirty-four.”
“What kind of thirty-four year old sleeps with an eighteen year old?” Fuuma asked, grinning at him.
“A very frustrated thirty-four sleeps with an extremely slutty eighteen year old,” Seishirou stated. “You don’t have your memory, so you’ll have to take my word on this, but trust me -- it wasn’t entirely my idea.”
Fuuma laughed. “Oh, I’d believe it.” He gave Seishirou a slow, appraising look. “But are you telling me an attractive individual such as yourself was having difficulty getting laid?”
Seishirou raised an eyebrow at him and started to deny it, then realized that by saying he was frustrated, he had already implied as much. “I wasn’t making much of an attempt. You practically crawled into my bed.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Fuuma said, in a wounded tone of voice.
Seishirou rolled his eyes. “It’s all right. You were just frustrated yourself.”
“Hey, wait a second,” Fuuma said, frowning. “Are you implying that I was having trouble getting laid?”
Seishirou -- there was no better word for -- snerked. “Well, the main object of your, shall we say, amorous desire, wasn’t having any because he hated you. Your secondary object of desire was in love with someone else, and so he wasn’t really having any either.”
“So you were my third choice?” Fuuma gave Seishirou a blatant onceover. “Man, I can’t wait until I see numbers one and two.”
“Well, having been in a coma for so long, there I can’t help you,” Seishirou said. There was a good chance that Kakyou was dead, given that he’d never been inclined towards life in the first place, and Seishirou doubted that Kamui wanted to have anything to do with Fuuma.
“I’ll have to look them up later,” Fuuma said with a shrug. “What were their names?”
Seishirou didn’t see the point in withholding that. “Number two was Kuzuki Kakyou. Number one was Shirou Kamui.”
Fuuma blinked. “Honestly? His phone number was on my sister’s desk, but when I tried to call it, no one picked up.”
“Well, he hated you with the fire of a thousand suns, so you probably shouldn’t try to call him again,” Seishirou advised.
“Yeah?” Fuuma asked. “What’d I do to him?”
“It’s an extremely long story,” Seishirou said. “But it can be summed up thusly: you inflicted a lot of damage on him at some inopportune moments.”
“So I kicked the shit out of him a few times.”
“You do have a way with words, don’t you.”
Fuuma laughed. “So I was both kicking the shit out of him and attempting to get into his pants? No wonder he hates me. Maybe I won’t call him after all. So when are they going to set you free?”
“Day after tomorrow, or so I’m told,” Seishirou said.
“Well, hey, drop by and visit.” Fuuma paused. “I suppose I’ll have to write directions for you . . .”
“I know where your house is,” Seishirou interrupted.
Fuuma raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t know me while I still lived there.”
Seishirou thought fast. “I didn’t. But I always investigate my assistants. For all I know, they’ve been sent to kill me.”
“Ah,” Fuuma said. “Very smart of you. So do you make a lot of money?”
“Tons,” Seishirou said comfortably. “Though after being in a coma for eight months, I think I may have lost my job.” He frowned. “But I have enough to live comfortably at any rate.” He reflected inwardly that, worst came to worst, he could always become a veterinarian again. That had been rather amusing, really.
“Well, no fair,” Fuuma said. “If you’ve lost your job, what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” Seishirou said. “Try finishing high school.” He wondered suddenly if Kamui knew Fuuma was still alive. An interesting quandary, that was . . . He itched to get out of the hospital and start finding out what he’d missed in the last eight months. As entertaining as Fuuma was, he couldn’t supply the information that Seishirou desperately wanted.
Fuuma made a face that implied that finishing high school wasn’t his cup of tea. “Well, you’ll come over when you get out of the hospital, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Seishirou said. “I might not be over ‘til late. I’ll have some work to do, finding out what’s changed while I’ve been out.”
“The later the better,” Fuuma said with a smirk. “I’ll be waiting.”
~~~~
Chapter Six
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