“If you don’t believe in the curse, why call me hex?” I breathe, dropping my forehead to his, my limbs feeling weak. I feel his fingers at the back of my neck, rubbing softly. “Hexadecimal.” “Huh?” “It doesn’t mean cursed, baby. It’s short for hexadecimal.” He mumbles, rubbing his nose against mine. “From the moment I saw you leaving that fucking hell house, there was this secret connection between us. I understood you, saw your pain, and wanted to take it away. Like I knew what you needed before you asked. I’m not calling you cursed, I’m saying you’re a special language only I can
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