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There was a night, years ago, when Eames watched the thin line of Arthur's back disappear as he buttoned up his shirt, watched the curve of his spine before it was clothed, chaste, when he watched, still in bed, as Arthur dressed, as Arthur enunciated carefully over "This isn't going to happen again."
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i can't stop rereading this fkzkjjgsj
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I think this had a happy ending? Still pretty angst.
