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... e nightmares—I deserve those. But the real ones. The ones where you smile, where you touch me like I'm still human. I wake up choking on them. On the thought that I burned the only good thing that ever looked at me like I could be more than a curse."

He reached for me again, then stopped himself. Hovered.

"I love you. I love you in the way broken things do—sharpened and sick and hungry. I love you, and it's killing me."

I felt it before I saw it—the shudder in his frame. ...

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