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Summary
I always looked only at him. I'd stare at him, eyes wide open, his week-old stubble, his baseball cap pulled down; he'd wave his arms and clap me on the shoulder. I'd sit on his left side, I'd inhale his scent; I could hide here, huddle and freeze. No one would touch me. His touch was a touch. I looked at him, and there were screams all around. Shaking, people jumping up from their seats, shirts scuffed up, exposing flat and not enough skin I wasn't supposed to see.
I was looking at him.
All I could see was him.
And in that moment, he was to me what he was meant to be.
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- Part 1 of I shot an angel with my daddy’s riffle
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“Mycroft died”, I said.
I turned around, and he wrapped his arms around me. The softness of his fingers on my neck. The nose of his, somewhere near. My collarbone, and I shuddered. My hands on his back, and he was breathing noisily, and I closed my eyes, I tried, but all of it, no way, and it raged, raged, and I opened my eyes, and all of it. There it was, by the bed, dancing and taunting. I looked, and it was unstoppable. Mycroft, on the bed. His dead body was melting. Tears of his corpse skin. Tears were coming off. They wrapped him in sheets, carried him out.Series
- Part 2 of translations in English
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“I'm just tired, I guess”, Kageyama said.
His hands were trembling. The tablecloth on the table was running off somewhere; flowers, funny stems. Eyeball-eating colors. Hinata's pensive face; his hands in his pants pockets; smooth, calm; the movements of his fingers; he was making tea.
“Things had been getting worse and worse for the band lately. Oikawa, me. For the most part, probably me”.
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- Part 1 of translations in English
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- English
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- 5,206
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Может, он все же позвонит тебе в домофон, и ты бросишься к нему со всех ног, твои руки на его спине, и ты носом ему в шею. Он скажет, что. Дружище, привет. И ты скажешь что. Ты любил его.
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Я ненавидел его так же сильно, как ненавидел мать, как ненавидел Иваизуми, как ненавидел этого похотливого человека. Я любил его так же сильно, как любил Иваизуми раньше, как любил отца. Я не говорил ему об этом. Может, он знал. Может, он не знал.
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- Part 2 of Writers
- Language:
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- 3,339
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- 1/1
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- 1
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- 133
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