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Vel shifts against her to brush calloused, warm fingers down Kleya’s cool cheek. “I’m yours, Kleya,” Vel whispers, sounding almost afraid. “If you ever want me.”
Her yearning look softens with sympathy, and she leans in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of Kleya’s mouth, right on the crinkle where she always anchors her smirk. It draws a broken, shaking exhale from Kleya.
“You only ever need ask.”