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Summary
“Does this help, in reality?"
“It does empty your head.” He shrugged in a dismissive way, but it felt forced.
It looked forced.
“Makes you feel wanted. Makes you feel disposable.”
He sat down on the floor by Steve’s legs, almost close enough to feel heat radiating from his skin.
.
.
.
"Horacio is gone. Horacio is dead with Escobar’s bullet in his head", he thought, grief curling around his mind. "Horacio is dead and I am here, alive."
