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Summary
Gerry rubbed his back. The skin was cold – too cold for Atlanta in late summer – and Michael flinched a little before relaxing into the touch. There was a scar on his spine, long, raised, muddling the bumps of vertebrae.
“Are you okay?” he asked, when it occurred to him that he should.
“It’s been a long time since anybody asked me that.”It's August, 2014, and Gerard is two-thirds of the way through a doomed road-trip.
Michael plays at being human for a night.
