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Summary
Yuuta leans into him, breath unsteady and hot where it ghosts over Toge’s skin. “Tell me to leave,” he whispers, even as his hands close around Toge’s waist and draw him nearer, his thumbs stroking slow, aching circles through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Tell me this is wrong. Tell me you don’t want me.”
“Okaka, Yuuta.” Toge could never.
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Written for Pressed Between Pages zine: Night-Blooming Jasmine