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Summary
Sometimes, Yangyang buries his face in Jaemin's shoulders and his body shakes in bouts, and the bed fills up with the purple remnants of loving someone who will never look at you the way you want him to. If you walked in on them, holding each other, you'd say that they're in love. If you asked them the same, they would tell you that they wish they were.
And yet.
(Essentially, the story that goes nowhere.)
