“Maybe it’s because you don’t like me,” I said, seized by a terrible boldness, my heart racing ahead of itself. “Because you hate me.” His brows drew together. “No,” he said firmly, despite his confusion. “I could never hate you.” “Really?” “I swear it.” “Not even if I did this?” And before I could lose my nerve, before I could think about why this was a horrible idea, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, leaving only a hair’s breadth of distance between us. I watched him breathe, or struggle to, his chest rising and falling erratically, eyes wide, lips parted, half his face
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