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An extraordinary amount of intimacy lay in exchanging art. Not for critique and not for class. Just to look. To feel. To understand each other.
They stood for a moment in the dark, before Thomas said, “I like how you are. There’s an entire world of ink and magic stuffed inside your head, and I think it’s beautiful. I just wish everything didn’t hurt you so much.”
Apparently he could hunt monsters in the woods, but still not talk to people without his words cramping in his mouth.
