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Summary
Sonya follows up with something quieter, more perplexing. “Even other than that, I miss you.” The way he says it is uncertain and almost tentative, like she might bite him for opening his mouth, but it produces a feeling in her chest that is a hybrid between butterflies and a bomb about to pop her guts open. Sometimes handling Sonya is like defusing a bomb, but it’s not like she would have it any other way.