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Summary
He remembers Kent at seventeen, sharp and mellow in equal measure. He gets a little bit of whiplash looking at Kent now. This Kent’s a little thicker too, muscle thewed down his arms, light dust of pale hair lining the bone. That’s not what keeps catching Jack off-balance. It’s not that Kent doesn’t look right. It’s that he doesn’t look at Jack right.
Or, Jack takes a bad hit and forgets the past
threeeight years of his life.
