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It was the sweater. His thread barren crimson cable knit sweater he had gotten ten years ago, which was currently slung over the tiny figure hiding the closet. The younger man insisted it smelled like him and made him feel safe. Adam looked even smaller when he wore it, sleeves hanging six inches passed his fingertips, hem dragging down his knobby knees. He looked small and scared, and he was wearing that fucking sweater, which meant today was a bad day. He hated those days.
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The Red Sweater; itsbeautiful