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Summary
When Matsukawa smiles, his white teeth are framed by deep red lips, his grin extended on both sides by black stitches painted onto an all-over white. His dark eyes gleam from within two symmetrical shapes of black.
A clown. Hanamaki hates clowns.
“I wanted your attention,” Matsukawa says, leaning forward to brace his palms against the bathroom countertop on either side of Hanamaki’s hips. “Did it work?”