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Summary
Mack feels sickness bubble at the back of his throat, clawing and burning, acidic spit tweaking frothily at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t move, though. Just stays in place, watching Will pace back and forth, hands running through his hair over and over like he’s doing laps on the ice. His lips are moving, words streaming forth, but Mack’s not registering them over the rush of blood lighting up his head.
