The OCCUPIED lights are on above both bathroom doors, so Hadley and Oliver stand in the small square of space just outside. They’re close enough that she can smell the fabric of his shirt, the whiskey still on his breath; not so close that they’re touching, exactly, but she can feel the hair on his arm tickle hers, and she’s again seized by a sudden longing to reach for his hand. She lifts her chin to find that he’s looking down at her with the same expression she saw on his face earlier, when she woke up with her head on his shoulder. Neither of them moves and neither speaks; they just stand
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