“How do I even start to tell my parents this insanity? And what if they think you’re a demon or something?” Pollux finishes the pizza, closes the box, locates a napkin, and wipes his hands before cuddling his crocheted bee again. Peering at me with his chin propped against butter yellow, he murmurs, “It would not be the first time.” I believe it would physically injure me to witness anyone linking this man to something so horrible when he’s like…

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