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Summary
Even now, with a couple months of practice, the gun is like a foreign object in his hand. The sleek metal is cool against the heat of his palms, a type of power that Aiyara isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to. There are still plenty of rounds left in the magazine so he doesn’t bother with reloading. His breath catches in his throat involuntarily as Gun slides the glasses back onto his face from behind.
“Good boy.”
OR
Aiyara is learning how to shoot, and Gun can't help but be attracted to him.
